Happenstance
by Papergirl
Summary: My response to windscryer's 100 Themes challenge. Angst, fluff, romance, drama, crime-solving... let the challenge begin! **TWO NEW CHAPTERS ADDED**
1. Chapter 1 Theme 1: Introduction

I really like Windscryer's 100 Themes Challenge. I've been enjoying the responses I've been reading, and, well, I decided to take a stab at it. My writing is still a little rusty so I'm sure my style will change drastically as these go on. Also, they won't all be all... wordy... like these first few. I plan on actually lightening up, as the show is actually a comedy. Yay!

Title: Happenstance  
Author: Papergirl  
Category: Response to Windscryer's 100 Themes Challenge. I suppose they will be alternately angsty, funny, etc.  
Rating: Overall it might get darker. I'll put any new ratings or warnings at the beginning of each ficlet if needed.  
Disclaimer: Obviously the characters don't belong to me.  
Author's Notes: Just really quickly - I have no idea how police-witness interviews go (thank God I have no personal experience there). So it's going to be creative license, I suppose.

Anyway, I've always wondered about Miami. In the pilot we learn Henry was living there, and later on we learn Juliet transferred to Santa Barbara from there. And so, though I'm sure the timelines don't match up, my brain couldn't help but wonder if maybe Henry met Juliet before anyone else did. Here's what came of it.

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HAPPENSTANCE

Chapter 1 – "Introduction"

Juliet O'Hara ran her hands over the back of her head, collecting as many wayward strands of blonde hair as possible as she fixed her ponytail. She could feel the droplets of sweat beading on her neck and dripping down her collar.

It was torture, absolute sheer torture, to be standing next to a glistening swimming pool in the Miami heat without any hope of plunging into its cool, refreshing depths. For a moment, she seriously considered jumping in, fully-clothed, but decided against it. Even though the gray suit she was wearing was by no means a favorite, she still felt that it probably wasn't the best way to win the respect of her fellow detectives. After all, she had only been a detective for a handful of months, and had only managed to convince her superiors to let her actually tag along to crime scenes, well, that morning.

Juliet hastily finished the ponytail, her attention focused on Detective Stephens as he spoke with one of the witnesses.

Detective Stephens was the one asking the questions. Detective Rodriguez was the one nodding and diligently taking notes. Juliet was the one standing awkwardly behind and beside them, casting longing looks at the pool. Sure, their homicide victim was still floating face down in it, the blood swirling and mixing with the chlorine as Forensics set up, but the part over in the deep end looked serene and blood-free.

Juliet shook her head slightly and briefly turned her attention to the dozen or so neighbors loitering around where the cops stood guard at the victim's gate. Older folks, mostly. A young Puerto Rican mother holding a sleeping infant. A skinny guy in a stained wifebeater. As she scanned the crowd, Juliet caught the eye of a balding gentleman with a sun-reddened face. He was leaning sideways on the fence, arms crossed over a garishly loud Hawaiian shirt. He was watching the police with a look of almost... Juliet struggled to define it - condescension? No. Bemusement, perhaps.

Juliet turned to face her fellow detectives. They were still mid-interview and mid-ignoring her. She'd expected it to be difficult. She'd expected the teasing and the nicknames. It wasn't anything she couldn't handle - she did have brothers, after all. She had even become rather fond of being the new "Grasshopper." She just hadn't anticipated the calculated manner by which her fellow law officers managed to exclude her from casework. She knew it was going to be difficult, but really? It was getting ridiculous. There were more than enough crimes in Miami for all of them and yet she still felt like she was constantly stepping on someone's toes merely by receiving a paycheck.

Something glittering in her periphery caught her eye. Juliet nonchalantly wandered over to the source of the glitter, an eye on Stephens and Rodriguez. She half-expected them to snap for her to return to their side, even though they didn't even trust her with note-taking. Their attention remained on the witness.

Juliet bent down to get a closer look at the shining object. It was a small, silver key. Too small for a house or a car, but big enough for a substantial lock. Instinctively, she turned and surveyed the yard: pool, patio, garden, and yes, over in the far corner, a shed with a large padlock.

A man whistled, low and appreciative, and Juliet tensed. She could feel the anger bubbling up. She stood and spun on her heels to face the catcaller but was surprised to find the Hawaiian shirt man grinning, not leering, at her. Covering her surprise, she marched over to the gate.

"Excuse me," she barked in her hoity-toitiest voice. The man nodded toward the location of the key.

"Good eye, kid," he raised his eyebrows. "I doubt they would've noticed."

Juliet turned to follow his gaze and found herself staring at Stephens and Rodriguez. She turned back to the man.

"I'm sorry?" she said it like a statement, and an accusatory one at that.

"Oh, don't get me wrong. I'm sure they're good cops," the man spoke genially. "They're just not very observant." He paused and looked at Juliet. "I've been trying to get their attention for ten minutes."

Juliet met his gaze and felt a little unnerved. She patted her pockets and pulled out her notebook and pen.

"Can I ask your name?" Her voice tried to walk the line between annoyed and intrigued.

The man smiled, more at her pen poised diligently over paper than at her question.

"Detective Henry Spencer, Santa Barbara Police Department," He sniffed slightly. "Retired."

He uncrossed his arms long enough to offer her a hand. Juliet shook it, pen still in her palm. She eyed him suspiciously.

"Spencer with a 'c' or an 's'?"

Henry grinned. "C. Do you want my badge number, too? Shoe size? Mother's maiden name?"

His tone was lighthearted enough, but Juliet didn't take kindly to being made fun of by strangers, and she'd had her fill of it by male cops, too.

"I'm sure that won't be necessary, Mr. Spencer," she replied curtly. "Did you know the victim?"

"We're neighbors." He pointed over her shoulder to the small ranch to the left of them.

"I see..." Juliet drew out the word to buy time as she scribbled notes.

"Listen," Henry said, shifting his weight. "Jack Olsen was a decent man, but he was into something. I used to see him from my kitchen. He'd go into that shed five, ten times a day. Always with a duffel bag. I figured drugs. I even called in an anonymous tip once, but he must have known because it was empty by the time your colleagues over there got around to organizing a raid."

Juliet nodded, writing furiously as she digested the man's words. "You think he was targeted by a fellow drug runner?"

"Probably. I was just coming home from fishing so I didn't witness anything today, but I'd bet he knew his attacker. I'd also bet that he threw away the key during the confrontation, maybe just before. But the neighbors called the cops before the killer had time to find it in the tall grass."

Juliet nodded again, still writing.

"Jack never could manage to mow on a regular basis."

Juliet smiled despite herself. She looked down at her notes, now comprising several pages in the book that had previously only held doodles. She looked back up at Henry.

"Santa Barbara were fools to let you go, sir."

Henry's eyes darkened but only momentarily. "Thanks, but it was my idea."

"Oh," Juliet was surprised. Surely an astute man with such impressive insights couldn't give up so easily. She hadn't been at it long yet but she knew being a detective was in her blood. It couldn't be fought.

Juliet snapped her notebook shut and slipped it back in her pocket.

"Will you be around later if we have further questions?"

"Yeah. I'm not going anywhere."

Juliet couldn't help herself from mumbling, "I know the feeling," under her breath. She hoped he hadn't heard her.

She slid a hand into her other pocket and pulled out an evidence baggie. Then she extended her free hand to Henry. "It was nice to meet you, Mr. Spencer."

"Henry."

"Henry. Thanks for the assistance."

He shook her hand. "Good luck to you, Detective..."

"O'Hara. Juliet O'Hara."

"Good luck to you, Detective O'Hara," Henry repeated. They broke apart, and Juliet made a beeline for the key on the ground.

"You know," Henry called after her. "They were always pretty good to us in Santa Barbara."

Juliet turned and squinted at him in the sunlight. She smiled wryly. "I'll keep that in mind."

She bent to retrieve the key and call over Stephens and Rodriguez. By the time she looked up again, Henry was gone.

His words, however, remained. And a short while later, when Juliet could no longer stand it in Miami, she couldn't help but look west.

**The End**

More Author's Notes: I made Henry a little too Shawn-like in this, but I blame it on early retirement and Miami's heat. His badge number line smacked of Shawn, but I think a loosened-up Henry might joke like that. Also, the "Grasshopper" nickname came from watching "The First 48" where the rookie in the Miami homicide unit is deemed "Grasshopper." That's about as much "research" as I did on this one. :-) Hope you enjoyed it.


	2. Chapter 2 Theme 43: Dying

Chapter 2: "Dying" (theme 43)

There are lots of ways to die, and Shawn Spencer has seen his fair share.

There are the quick ways, the car accidents and shootings and stabbings and bombings, the ways where milliseconds measure the difference between life and death.

He always pictures himself going in one of these ways, filled with adrenaline, maybe while bungee-jumping. Most importantly, there can't be enough time to come to peace with death. Peaceful has never been a word used to describe him during his life, so he figures his death will be no different.

There are other quick ways to die, too. Freak accidents, fires, floods, flash floods, tornadoes, hurricanes. You can slip in the shower or have an aneurysm and it'll be lights out almost instantly. Heart attack, stroke, allergic reaction, blood clot. You can think you have the flu and die of meningitis hours later.

If you are lucky you can die in your sleep, which, although not necessarily quick in execution, tends to be quick in that rather unexpected way.

Then there are the slow ways. Cancer, heart disease, diabetes. An alcoholic lovingly abusing a liver to death. Alzheimer's. MS. Even slitting one's wrists takes time, seconds oozing away with the blood. Not that it matters, but even merely existing will, given enough time, ever so slowly kill you.

There are so many ways to die, and Shawn can't help but feel cheated that he only gets one.

This isn't the way he'd have chosen for himself, but, then again, it isn't really his choice.

It's so cliche, though, the gurney hustling down the hall, doctors and nurses shouting numbers and abbreviations over his head. The doors flapping shut behind him, the nurse with the stern-but-kindly face firmly informing his loved ones that they can't follow. It's so cliche that it feels like it's straight out of a movie, or a TV show, and a bad one at that. What is he to expect next? An out-of-body experience? A light in the distance and the unexamined urge to run towards it?

He can almost hear the strains of whatever sappy ballad will be playing over his poignantly-edited death scene.

Even in the midst of his internal pop culture critique, Shawn begins to fade from his mind. He's having a harder time focusing. 'How many hats in the room?' he thinks half-heartedly. He hears a machine, well, several, but the most important one starts to flatline. He's sure this is it. How disappointing. How blase and anticlimactic. The great Shawn Spencer bleeding to death in a hospital while some Coldplay song swells in the background. It's undignified. Unsatisfying. One second he's alive; the next he's not.

Yet Shawn's never been one for commitment. His final thoughts are of re-incarnation and the sound of that machine beeping again.


	3. Chapter 3 Theme 53: Keeping a Secret

Chapter 3: "Keeping a Secret" (theme 53)

Spoilers: Very, very minor for Shawn vs. the Red Phantom (i.e. my interpretation of something Lassiter said to the Chief)

Author's Notes: This one's pretty somber, even for me. It's not really graphic or anything, but we're dealing with death and divorce so proceed with caution and tissues. I swear I'll get to happy fics soon... well, eventually. ;-)

* * *

Her name was Victoria Parker, but her family called her Tory. She introduced herself as Vicky when she met her future husband during their sophomore year of college, though shortly after graduation, she reverted back to Tory.

Once they were married, Carlton gradually started calling her Tory, too. He still thought of her as Vicky, and she didn't complain when he'd slip up and call her that; she preferred it, actually, but only when he did it. It sounded stupid coming from anyone else's mouth.

When their marriage started falling apart, Vicky somehow became Victoria. Carlton was still Carlton, had never not been Carlton to her, but she was suddenly Victoria. It sounded too formal when he said it, like he was angry all the time. But maybe he was.

She was.

Angry and sad.

She wished she could remember exactly when the name change happened. Back when she cared about reconciliation, she used to fall asleep replaying memories. Had she been Victoria before the fights? No... but she couldn't for the life of her figure out when exactly it happened.

She knew she was Victoria well before the accident, though. She knew because it had been one of the reasons she hadn't told him yet. Hadn't told him **yet**. She was going to, honestly she was, but she never got the chance.

She knew that spotting was normal. She knew, so she wasn't afraid. But when the bleeding got heavier and heavier and just wouldn't stop, she got scared. Then the cramps, the tiny little knives poking and twisting in her gut.

Tory had been surprised at how quickly she weakened. She remembered feeling faint, and she remembered heading downstairs to call the doctor. She remembered being dizzy and then the next thing she remembered was the look on Carlton's face when she awoke in the hospital.

She'd never forget that look.

She couldn't talk. Her voice was too dry, her body too tired, her mind too hazy. But even if she'd been able to form words, she wouldn't have known what to say.

His eyes were red. His hair was ruffled, like he'd spent several hours running his hands through it in frustration. He probably had. She spotted a speck of blood just above his temple. Her blood.

And not her blood.

She thought of how it must have gotten there. He must have come home on time, maybe a little late. He would have found her crumpled in a bloody heap at the bottom of the stairwell. He must have panicked, in that split second before his cop's mind took over. He must have felt sick with despair.

And he hadn't even known.

His eyes, when she dared to catch them, asked why. They pleaded with her to tell him why. But he didn't say anything, and she didn't answer him. He sat in the chair next to her bed, his hand limply wrapped around hers in a show of support he clearly didn't feel.

She felt empty. Hollow. A shell.

That look of his... God, that look.

He hadn't wanted children. She knew that. He'd told her as much, several times. And she hadn't really wanted children either.

Until she found out...

She hadn't told him yet. She was waiting for the right time, but it never seemed to come. He was barely home and when he was they were either fighting or sleeping or not speaking to each other. They had already started to drown and this baby was going to save them. All the little hiccups of their young marriage would disappear, replaced with perfect pink skin and dark hair and slate blue eyes like his father.

She hadn't told him, and now she didn't have to. He knew.

He didn't have to tell her, either. She knew.

But she knew one other thing that he didn't. That look... she knew that they weren't going to make it. She wasn't going to make it. How could she share her life with the man who looked at her like that? How could she live with herself?

After the drugs wore off, after she was examined and the doctors explained everything that had happened using words she barely comprehended... after she dressed herself in the clean clothes he'd brought her... after they drove home in silence, she realized how she was going to survive.

Her baby was dead, her marriage was over, and Vicky was gone. Long live Victoria.


	4. Chapter 4 Theme 29: Happiness

Chapter 4 - "Happiness" (theme 29)

When Shawn was little, his mother preferred to hang their damp laundry out back to dry in the ever present Santa Barbara sun. Shawn preferred this, too, though not purely because his young, discerning nose could spot the difference between line dry and Bounce sheet. Shawn liked the fact that his mother hung their clothes outside because it allowed them to play together and, unlike with his father's games, Shawn could let his mind relax and just have fun.

One of his earliest memories was of darting between the billowing white sheets in pursuit of his mother. He could see her silhouette; sometimes, if he was fast enough, he could catch a glimpse of her bouncing hair or her bare, perfectly-pedicured feet.

He always won, always found her, peals of delight emancipated when she'd lift him and swing him around and around. His reward for finding her was always that same warm smile, the shrieking, gleeful laughter that matched his own.

Sometimes, on the hottest days, they'd share a well-earned glass of pineapple juice, the ice clinking as they sat on the porch, Shawn in his mother's lap, passing the glass back and forth.

Once, Shawn took two big gulps but held the refreshing liquid in his cheeks like a chipmunk. His mother teased him about drinking so much, but when he turned and she saw his puffed out cheeks she couldn't help but laugh. He laughed, too, and sprayed the fruit juice everywhere, choking briefly but still laughing.

She wasn't angry at being sticky and pineapple-scented. They used the hose to wash up and, when Shawn leaned in for a drink, she sprayed him in the face. Then he'd run as far as he could out into the yard, trying to escape without really trying, but her aim was uncanny.

She was fair, though, and she'd let him have his turn with her, and inevitably they'd find themselves sprawled out on the glistening grass, drying in the warm sun while telling stories about the shifting shapes of clouds overhead.

When Shawn grew a little older, they started another game. He would take a chair and begin at one end of the clothesline, his mother at the other, and they would race to the middle. His mother usually won; his need to move the chair and the fact that his clumsy, pre-pubescent fingers always required two or three clothespin attempts per garment slowed him down considerably.

Though competitive, it never mattered that he always lost; this game was more about teamwork and, dare he even think it, chores, than winning. Nevertheless, there was still pineapple juice, or lemonade, or melting popsicles afterwards. Still cuddling and cloud-gazing in the sunshine. Still the soft smile and warm laughter floating on the breeze.

Gradually, the games stopped.

It wasn't until Shawn was much older that he realized those fleeting childhood afternoons were probably the closest he'd ever come to pure, unadulterated happiness.

That is, until now.


	5. Chapter 5 Theme 63: Do Not Disturb

Chapter 5 – "Do Not Disturb" (theme 63)

It's almost four in the morning and Lassiter isn't expecting to see anyone when he pulls up to the 24 hour diner. He isn't disappointed.

If he didn't have to drive, if he didn't have to work in five hours, if a lot of things had lined up differently, he would be at a bar drinking, or better yet he'd be at home, sound asleep. But things happened how they happened, and now he's going to attempt to block out the image of that dead little girl with a pot or two of coffee and maybe a muffin.

He's tearing into the muffin when he hears the door jingle. He looks up and almost does a double take.

Lassiter slinks over in his booth, scooting as close to the window as possible to avoid being seen. He barely tolerates speaking to Spencer when he has to, and he certainly doesn't have to at 3:42 AM.

Spencer sits at the counter, his back to the detective, and Lassiter almost allows himself an audible sigh of relief. Spencer chats amiably with the grumpy night manager, as if they are old friends which, Lassiter assumes, is probably the case. Shawn orders "the usual," and Lassiter rolls his eyes. It figures that Spencer has a "usual" at a diner in the middle of the night.

Lassiter's eyes are still on Spencer's back and he notices the man's shirt appears to be ironed, his hair gelled more perfectly into place than usual.

'He's awfully well-kept for 4AM,' Lassiter muses idly, popping another bite of muffin in his mouth. 'Who's he expect to see at 4AM?'

Lassiter watches as two cups of coffee are placed on the counter, along with a plate with a slice of pie and another plate with a blueberry muffin. Just as Lassiter's brows are scrunching up in confusion, he hears a jingle. The diner's door opens and shuts.

'Dear God, Spencer actually does have a date at 4AM.'

Lassiter supposes he shouldn't be surprised.

He also supposes he shouldn't be surprised when a familiar blonde sidles up next to Shawn, plopping her purse on the counter as she slides into her seat.

O'Hara leans one shoulder into Spencer's and bounces back a bit, playfully, and Spencer shakes his head and says something brainless. Well, Lassiter can't hear him so he must assume it's brainless.

Lassiter watches, utterly fascinated, as this bizarre, seemingly-nightly ritual unfolds in front of him. The manager moves off to wax the floor in the far corner, giving the couple some space.

'Couple?' Lassiter questions himself, but the assessment appears apt. They're leaning in close, a hand lingering on an arm. O'Hara is speaking in hushed tones while Spencer hangs on her every word. Their food and drinks sit untouched.

Spencer says something Lassiter doesn't catch and O'Hara smiles sadly. She speaks again and Lassiter picks up a few words this time: "Clara," "blood," "Mother," "too late" and he realizes she's talking about the very same case that has kept him awake.

Lassiter looks up to see O'Hara's head on Spencer's shoulder, his arm snaked around her neck and rubbing her arm reassuringly.

It's such a sweet and comforting moment that Lassiter forgets for a moment who they are and where he is and feels a rare longing deep inside for someone to comfort him. He draws a long sip of lukewarm coffee, thinks of divorce lawyers, and the pang fades.

O'Hara eventually straightens up. She takes a bite of her muffin before eyeing Spencer's pie. Spencer merely raises his hands in defeat. O'Hara deftly slides their plates around and attacks the pie. They turn to their food. The two sit in silence for a while, lost in thought, and Lassiter finds his own mind drifting.

After a while, he spies O'Hara sliding Spencer's plate back with only one bite of pie remaining. He takes it without comment and slides the mostly-untouched muffin back. They do it wordlessly, effortlessly, and Lassiter wonders how often they find themselves here, together but not together, a shoulder to cry on but only in the middle of the night and only when no one else is watching.

Suddenly feeling like a voyeur, Lassiter guiltily glances at the two of them sitting at the counter and quickly realizes his bind: if he leaves now, they will see him and know he's been here the whole time. Under normal circumstances, Lassiter would jump at the chance to give the psychic a hard time, but he simply isn't in the mood tonight.

Yes, it's best to just wait until they leave.

Lassiter slides further into the booth, crushing his right arm against the wall but making himself practically invisible to them.

He needn't worry, though, because Spencer and O'Hara stand up. O'Hara searches through her huge purse for her wallet, failing to notice that Spencer has already given the manager some bills and waved off the change.

When she looks up, having successfully located her money, Spencer is smiling at her, a smile that Lassiter has seen only a handful of times. She tries to protest but knows it's pointless.

"I've got next time," she insists, dropping her wallet back into her purse and rifling through it again, this time for her keys.

"Good night, Martin," they chime in almost sickly-sweet unison, and the night manager gives them a smile and a wave. The door jingles as they leave, and Lassiter finds himself releasing a breath he didn't know he was holding.

Lassiter only stays a few more minutes after their departure; he can see the sun rising and knows he's successfully waited out another night.

There's still a few more hours before work, but now that it's morning Lassiter can head home, go for a run, take a shower, and stop for an extra large coffee on the way to the office.

He pays his bill and heads outside, squinting as the first rays of sunshine peak over the buildings.

He walks over to his car, glad he parked in the side lot so Spencer and O'Hara wouldn't have seen his car.

As he rounds the corner, Lassiter notices a motorcyle. Spencer's motorcycle. But O'Hara's car is gone, and the fake psychic is nowhere to be found.

'Did they go somewhere else together?' he wonders for a moment. He thinks about what they could be doing and decides he really, really doesn't want to know.


	6. Chapter 6 Theme 36: Precious Treasure

Very minor spoilers in this one for Lights, Camera... Homicidio. Enjoy!

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Chapter 6 - "Precious Treasure" (theme 36)

If Shawn had to pick his best asset, he would have to go with his sense of humor. Yes, it would be difficult to pass up his boyishly handsome face, his amazing sense of style, how good he looked in jeans, his hair... oh God, his hair...

Difficult, yes, but not even his extensive knowledge of '80s trivia, nor his El Pollo Loco guy impression, photographic memory, and yes, not even his hair could compete with his sense of humor.

Shawn had been making people laugh for as long as he could remember. For Shawn, it was more than just an icebreaker or a defense mechanism; it was a way of life.

He took great pride in his ability to make others laugh. Obviously he had to; he did choose his sense of humor over his hair. But there was one particular joke, one particular laugh that would always hold a special place in his heart... though he would admit it to no one.

Shawn was seven years old and home sick with a stomach bug. His father had just come off of back-to-back shifts and had agreed to wait to go to bed while his mother made the rounds for medicine and chicken soup.

Shawn, meanwhile, had spent the morning and the better part of the previous evening dozing on the bathroom tile. When he managed to drag his weary bones to the couch, he must have looked truly miserable because Henry scooped him up and covered him with a blanket.

"Thanks, Dad," he chattered. Henry rubbed Shawn's back through the blanket, his eyes on the television. A documentary about some native island tribe was flickering on the screen. Even in his feverish state, Shawn knew that Henry would prefer to watch the news or golf or even that Spanish soap opera he'd never admit to liking, but he must have been too tired to find the remote to change the channel.

"Still feeling sick?" Henry asked. He put his hand on Shawn's forehead and jerked it back. "You've got quite a fever there, kid."

Shawn let out a muffled moan in agreement. Henry adjusted Shawn, who was lying somewhat across his lap, and wrapped the blanket tighter around his son. Shawn was already starting to feel hot, too hot, but the attention was too good to pass up and so he said nothing.

It wasn't long before Shawn began to doze; Henry must have, too, until a loud commercial woke him. Henry's subtle movements woke Shawn as well.

By the time Shawn could bring himself to open his eyes, the documentary was back on. A group of lean, loincloth-clad men were standing carefully spaced apart in a river. They each held a long spear in their hands.

Shawn tilted his head slightly and looked up. His father was not only awake but actually watching the TV.

Although he himself would have preferred Thundercats, Shawn was too sick to care. He found his attention falling on the men with spears.

Suddenly, one man speared the water and in one fluid motion pulled the spear out to reveal a glistening gray fish wriggling on the end.

Shawn, one eye still on the TV while the other slipped slowly closed, couldn't help himself.

"Now that's a fish stick," he murmured.

Then there was a sound, a sound Shawn had rarely heard and had never, to his recollection, caused.

Henry Spencer laughed.

Not a chuckle, or a snort. Not even a chortle. The sound was a genuine belly laugh. It was a sound so rare and unique that Shawn thought for a moment that he'd dreamt it. But he tilted his head up and caught his dad wiping tears from his eyes. Tears! Tears of laughter! Caused by Shawn!

It was probably the exhaustion, but Shawn had made his father laugh and he was hooked. He had yet to make Henry laugh that way again, but Shawn knows he will someday. That is why, despite all he has to offer, Shawn Spencer knows his best asset is his sense of humor.

And his hair.

But mostly the humor.


	7. Chapter 7 Theme 59: No Way Out

Chapter 7 - "No Way Out" (Theme 59)

* * *

Shawn knocks on the door out of politeness, suppressing his usual urge to just barge into the Guster home without warning. He's trying to remember his manners, or at least some of them, because he's beginning to get the feeling that Mrs. Guster isn't exactly as fond of him as she used to be.

A few moments pass and Mrs. Guster opens the door. Shawn smiles sweetly up at her. She hesitates briefly before plastering on a less-than-sincere smile.

Although Shawn is young, he's no fool. He needs to be as sweet as possible to win her back over.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Guster," Shawn greets, his words oozing sugar. "Can Gus come out and play?"

"_Burton_," Mrs. Guster says pointedly. "Is upstairs. You can go on up to see him."

Shawn nods, disappointed in himself. He should know better. He's probably never going to get back into her good graces. Not after Gus came home with that B. And the unfortunate incident with the fireworks and the tea cozy... or the trampoline and the swimming pool.

Shawn snaps out of his thoughts when Mrs. Guster resignedly opens the door wider and walks towards the kitchen. Shawn lets himself in and quietly closes the door behind him. He slips off his shoes and places them carefully next to the door, as per usual when visiting the Guster household.

Gus is probably playing with that dorky chemistry set he'd gotten for his brithday last week, or maybe he's putting together his new telescope. He might even be using the Rock Tumbler. No matter what he's doing, it's not as exciting and important as what Shawn has in mind.

Shawn creeps slowly up to Gus's bedroom, deciding to sneak up and scare Gus. He keeps low to the ground and carefully steps around all the creaky spots in the hallway. Shawn is excited to discover that Gus's door isn't closed all the way.

Crouching low, Shawn peers through the crack. He can just see Gus, whose back is turned to him. Shawn notices the chemistry set, telescope, and even the Rock Tumbler sitting off to the side of the room, untouched.

Gus is talking to himself, but Shawn can't hear the words.

He's just about to stand up and burst into the room – he's prepared to laugh and laugh as Gus jumps in surprise – when Gus moves slightly and Shawn catches sight of what his best friend is playing with.

Shawn stands there, slack-jawed, as his disbelieving eyes take in the sight.

"Oh. My. God," Shawn says. Gus jumps in surprise and embarrassment, turning to the partially-opened door. Gus immediately throws the offending object across the room.

"Shawn!" Gus exclaims, trying to play cool but Shawn can see the flush in his cheeks and the shame in his eyes.

Shawn stands up and opens the door all the way. He walks into Gus's room, his eyes on the corner where the offensive object is now lying upside down on top of a stack of comic books. His eyes fall back on Gus, who is standing and staring at Shawn.

Shawn can almost hear Gus's mind at work, rifling through myriad excuses before ultimately realizing there's no escape. Gus steadies himself and prepares for the teasing.

Shawn looks down for a moment to collect his thoughts. He looks up at Gus.

"Were you..." he stops, rubs a hand through his hair, and starts again. "Gus, did I just see you playing with a Cabbage Patch Kid?"

Gus lowers his eyes.

"Seriously?" Shawn asks. "A Cabbage Patch doll?"

Gus takes a deep breath. He's not in the mood to be berated and teased yet again by his best friend. He looks up at Shawn, defensive fire in his eyes.

"Yes, Shawn! I have a Cabbage Patch Kid. I asked for it for my birthday, my parents bought it, and I got it for my birthday. Her name is Patti and yes, I was actually just playing with her. I realize that I am a boy and a doll is typically considered a girl's toy, but I don't care what you think. I don't care."

Gus crosses his arms triumphantly. He's practically beaming at beating Shawn to the punch. Shawn looks like he's unsure of what to say.

"What do you have to say to that, Shawn?" Gus asks, standing up even straighter.

"Well, geez, Gus. I honestly don't know where you get all this aggression from," Shawn shakes his head and walks over to the doll. He picks it up and examines it. "Sure, I was surprised, but then I was going to suggest I go home and get Captain VonPineappleHead and we go play in the tree house."

Shawn cherishes the look of utter shock on Gus's face.

"What?" Gus manages to squeak. "You have a Cabbage Patch Kid, too?"

"Of course not!" he cries, doubling over in laughter. "I just wanted," he gasps, laughing so hard he collapses to his knees on Gus's floor. "I just wanted to see your face! When I said that!"

Gus narrows his eyes, not amused in the least. He bends down and yanks Patti from Shawn's grasp as the latter continues to roll and laugh raucously.

"I can bring my Rainbow Brite, too," Shawn continues to laugh, holding his aching stomach. "And... and... Strawberry Shortcake!" Shawn dissolves into a fresh batch of giggles.

"Later, Shawn," Gus says simply, walking out of his room and leaving Shawn still in stitches.

After a moment, Shawn's laughter dies down and he realizes Gus isn't coming back. "Gus? Aw, Gus, come ON!"

Gus doesn't reappear, but Shawn feels the giggles bubbling up. He collapses yet again in a fit of laughter, wiping tears from his eyes and knowing that this tidbit of embarrassing information is going to come in handy at some point in the future.


	8. Chapter 8 Theme 45: Illusion

Chapter 8 - "Illusion" (Theme 45)

* * *

Under normal circumstances, Henry never would have considered it, but money was a little tight that year. Besides, a bunch of his buddies from the force were doing it, too, and while Henry was not a proponent of peer pressure, he did appreciate safety in numbers.

Still, it was pretty much the promise of a Christmas-saving paycheck that found Henry moonlighting at the mall. He was spending his precious weekends in a place he detested and usually did everything in his power to avoid.

Luckily, it was almost Christmas.

Henry was getting sick of being reprimanded for not being jolly enough. It cost 2 to sit on Santa's lap and get a Polaroid taken: he looked the part, he was friendly with the kids, he even ho-ho-hoed on occasion; what else could those greedy parents want?

Thank God he only had one more weekend to go.

Madeline was going to be bringing Shawn and Gus in today to see Santa, so at least he had that to look forward to.

Henry finished his sandwich with a sigh and peeked out at the line already snaking towards the Pretzel Place. He'd be putting in overtime again tonight.

'One more week, only one more week,' he told himself encouragingly as he slipped his itchy cotton beard back on and adjusted the pillow in his suit.

"Look, boys and girls! Santa's back!" Sara, one of the teenaged elves, announced loudly upon Henry's return.

Dozens of children later, Henry happened to catch sight of his wife towards the middle of the queue. She was bending down and reprimanding Shawn, who looked about thirty seconds from rolling his eyes and disobeying her again. Not even the threat of coal for Christmas could get the kid to behave.

As if a real-life representation of that Goofus and Gallant children's comic, Gus stood next to Shawn, his hands in his pockets. His hair was neat, his shirt tucked in, his pants mud-free. Shawn wriggled away from his mother's hold on his wrist, clearly not Gallant.

Henry sighed and turned his attention back to the little girl on his lap asking for a Cabbage Patch doll. "Good luck," he wanted to say, more to her parents than to her. He'd seen the news footage and couldn't help but think that once again spoiled children and their browbeaten parents were a growing part of what was wrong with the country.

It didn't take long before Shawn and Gus, along with a weary Madeline, had made it to the front of the line.

Upon seeing Henry in his full St. Nick regalia, Gus immediately burst into tears. Madeline tried to calm him, to reassure him, to drag him onto Henry's lap for a quick photo op, but all to no avail.

She finally admitted defeat and stood next to a still-whimpering Gus as Shawn climbed the two steps to Santa's workshop.

Henry prepared for his Oscar-worthy performance. He patted his knee.

"Why hello there, young man," Henry boomed in a deep, hopefully jolly voice. "Why don't you come sit on Santa's lap and tell me what you want for Christmas?"

Shawn stood absolutely still, hands at his sides, staring intently at him. For a second Henry thought he might start bawling, too, but the youngster quickly warmed and bounced into Henry's lap with a smile.

"Hi, Dad!" he yelled happily. "Why are you dressed as Santa?"

Henry looked nervously at the long line of families and felt his cheeks redden.

Elf Sara, thinking quickly, announced to the nearby families that Santa's son had just come down from the North Pole to visit him before Christmas. That seemed to satisfy the children, or at least the parents.

Henry turned his attention to the boy in his lap.

"I don't know what you're talking about young man," Henry said, slightly less jovial than before.

Shawn shook his head and gave a small tug on Henry's beard.

"Come on, Dad. I'm not stupid."

Henry was at once upset that Shawn didn't buy him as Santa and pleased that he hadn't been able to pull one over on him.

Still, Henry lowered his voice and glanced at the waiting children before looking at Shawn.

"Yes, Shawn. It's me. But don't be so loud and don't say anything to the other kids."

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

"Because you said so or because Santa said so?" Shawn asked, possibly innocently.

Henry took a deep breath.

"Because we both said so, okay? Now what do you want for Christmas?"

"Nothing. You already got me what I wanted."

Henry was quickly getting more and more flustered. "What? How do you know?"

"The box under the tree," Shawn gestured with his hands, "This big, with the shiny red paper and two green bows. That's the Optimus Prime I asked for. And the little gold one with reindeer on it, that's the Knight Rider shirt. And the two Lego sets are still under your bed."

Henry stared in shock at his son, his jaw hanging open ever-so-slightly. How...?

FLASH

Sara smiled as the camera spit out the Polaroid. She handed it to Madeline and motioned for Shawn to get down.

"Come on, little boy. Say 'bye' to Santa and you can come pick out a candy cane," Sara held out the basket with the candy canes as a bribe.

Shawn hopped off Henry's lap and eagerly glanced at the candy cane selection before turning back to Henry.

"Merry Christmas, Dad. See you at home," Shawn smiled and waved before rejoining his mother and Gus by the candy canes.

Henry could only stare after him and, after the shock faded, found himself harboring a strange sense of... pride?

"Merry Christmas, son," he whispered before turning to the next eager child.


	9. Chapter 9 Theme 26: Tears

Chapter 9 - "Tears" (Theme 26)

* * *

Despite her best efforts, Juliet O'Hara is an optimist at heart. She constantly roots for the underdog, she enjoys movies with happy endings, and deep down she believes in the power of love.

At least, she used to. Lately she's not so sure.

It all starts with that strange phone call from her mother. 'Mom never calls me at work,' Juliet remembers thinking, and the slightly uneasy feeling doesn't go away during their bizarre conversation. The feeling develops into full-fledged dread by the time the weekend rolls around and she picks her mom up at the airport.

Juliet likes to think that she knew what her mom was going to tell her before she said it, but she knows it's a lie. Detective or no detective, she's blindsided by her mother's revelation.

After a few moments of stunned silence during which she has not one coherent thought, Juliet thinks maybe it's a joke. 'But you and Dad are so happy!' she wants to yell. 'You've always been so happy! Have you just been faking it? Have you just been waiting until your kids were old enough so you could end the charade?'

She opts for a simple, "What happened?"

Her mother's answer is all over the place, punctuated with tears or anger or, at one especially confusing moment, both.

Emotionally drained, her mother goes to sleep on Juliet's bed. Juliet stands in the hallway outside her bedroom until her legs feel weak. She shuffles over and sinks into the couch, staring at nothing for what could be hours or mere minutes.

She can't think here. She needs air.

Juliet hastily scribbles a note to her mom, grabs her keys, and practically jogs out the door. She gets in the car with no destination in mind and drives. Windows down despite a chill, she reaches for the radio but only gets through three stations before she switches it off in anger.

But the silence is no good, the quiet is too much, and even with the windows down she feels trapped. Without consciously deciding, she pulls into a parking lot by the beach.

Normally she doesn't mind the crowds, but she's relieved the chill has kept most of the tourists away.

She sits on a bench for a moment, but quickly gets to her feet again and heads down to the sand.

She's restless and she knows it, knows it's because when she stops moving she's going to start thinking and, worse yet, start feeling.

Juliet is a lot of things but she is not a crier. She hates it, takes pride in her restraint, and since age six or so has done her best to avoid it. Crying never solves anything, but she's fully aware of the fact that she's not going to be able to hold back the tears when she thinks about the dissolution of her parents' marriage.

It's hard going in the sand with her heels, and she slips them off. A shoe now dangling from each hand, Juliet continues her aimless journey towards the mostly-deserted end of the beach.

The optimist in her, beaten and bloodied, squeaks a few words of encouragement. 'It's just a separation. Just a trial. They'll realize how silly this whole thing is. Imagine how we'll all laugh at Christmas about Mom and Dad's crazy trial separation.' But it takes too much effort and soon the optimist, ever-weakening, collapses.

'Christmas is going to be awful,' Juliet thinks absently. 'All our traditions, everything... gone. Over. Oh God.'

She kicks furtively at the sand but it is less than satisfying. As she watches the sand re-assimilate into the beach, she recognizes a far-off storefront and the not-as-far-off co-owner of said storefront.

She abruptly turns on her heels and walks back in the direction she came, hoping he didn't see her. She doesn't want to offend him, but she's not in the mood to talk to anyone now...and she certainly doesn't have the energy for Shawn Spencer.

She realizes with a sigh that she'll have to find the energy because he is jogging – no, running – towards her. She hears him calling her name and, as rude as it may be, she keeps walking. She can outrun him but there's no point.

Shawn catches up to her. He reaches a hand out on her shoulder and she stops reluctantly. He grins at her, out of breath, and bends over slightly, chest heaving for air.

"Hi," he says to her feet, hand still on her shoulder, and straightens up.

Juliet must need to work on her poker face because one look at her and his face immediately softens. "You okay, Jules?"

Maybe it's his tone, maybe it's that look of pure concern in his eyes, but Juliet can feel the long-forgotten sting of unshed tears. She fights it with her best weapon – denial.

"I'm fine, Shawn," she says sternly, dipping her shoulder so his hand falls off. She turns to walk back to her car, regretting that she'd gotten out in the first place.

He catches up with her quickly -- like he would have let her go so easily – and Juliet feels even worse when she sees the split-second of hurt in his eyes.

"Jules, if you want to be alone, that's fine. I'll respect that. But if you need to talk, well, I'll try to shut up long enough to let you."

His grin is infectious and despite her mood she smiles slightly. "It's a sweet offer, Shawn, but I don't feel like talking."

Shawn takes her refusal with aplomb. "What if I do the talking for the both of us?" he asks, then makes a face. She, too, recognizes the words from their first meeting and does a half-shrug.

"Sit, sit," Shawn insists, and she sinks into the cool sand. Shawn drops down right in front of her, his back to the ocean. He scoots close enough to put both hands on her shoulders. She gives him a look suggesting where her knee will go if he tries anything and he grins meekly.

"Relax, Jules. Your honor is safe with me." His eyebrow raises and he looks off to the side. "For now," he adds and a small laugh escapes from her lips. He looks quite pleased with himself.

Then he looks at her head-on, hands on her shoulders, eyes on her soul. Just as Juliet is starting to get uncomfortable with the prolonged eye contact, Shawn releases her shoulders and sits back.

"I'm sensing you've recently received some troubling news," he announces.

"Shawn, I don't want to talk about –"

"Shhh," Shawn admonishes, raising a hand. "You don't want to talk about it, remember?"

She almost laughs at the absurdity of the situation.

Shawn shifts his eyes to start directly at her again – it's unnerving, and unsettlingly like Carlton's interrogation room gaze.

"I'm sensing you've recently received some troubling news," he repeats.

"Yes, Shawn," Shawn says in his ridiculous falsetto "Juliet" voice. "But I don't want to talk about it."

Back to his normal voice. "That's okay, Jules. I understand how tough it is when your parents are getting divorced."

Juliet's eyes grow wide and she gasps. Her astonishment helpfully distracts her from thinking about how horrible and final it sounds out loud.

"Shawn, that's... how'd you know?" she asks softly.

Shawn shifts his legs and shrugs. "Oh, you know, astral projections and the fact that I myself walked around with a similar look oh-so-many years ago."

Although she already knew Shawn's parents were divorced, she's still a little shocked to hear him say it. She suddenly realizes that she's about to be inducted into a club whose membership she's always assumed, with a false sense of superiority, is beyond her.

"My mom's staying with me," she admits, futilely wiping at sand on her pant leg. "It's a trial separation, but I've never seen my mom so determined."

Shawn nods gently, absorbing her words. She half-expects him to ask a stupid question, like, "Did you see it coming?" but she is pleased that his psychic abilities have wisely informed him not to open his mouth.

He scoots around and positions himself next to her, and for a few moments they stare out at the waves in silence.

"I was relieved," Shawn says quietly, eyes still on the water. "When they told me. As devastating as it was, I was just glad it was going to put an end to all the fighting."

Shawn looks over to Juliet, who catches his gaze. "Obviously, it's different for you, since you're not at home anymore. But I bet it hurts just as much."

Juliet merely nods before turning her eyes back to the ocean. She can feel her throat tightening and she'll be damned if she's going to cry... and in front of Shawn Spencer no less.

"They tell you it's not because of you – and you can believe that more than I could, because you're older – but it doesn't matter. You still feel like you should be able to fix it. I mean, you're the perfect mediator – half of one, half of the other... but it's not your place to fix their marriage. You know?"

Juliet nods, nearer to tears but managing to speak this time. "I keep thinking there must be something I can say, something I can do to make them realize what a mistake they're making."

Shawn looks at her again, shaking his head sadly. "There aren't any magic words," he confides.

He picks up a small, broken seashell and tosses it absently in one hand.

"I hated my dad for a long time," he admits softly. Juliet looks over at him, amazed at his openness. Shawn may talk a lot, but he is still a rather private man, and this level of personal revelation is new to her.

Shawn feels her stare and meets it with a wry smile. "My dad gave me lots of reasons to hate him – the divorce was just icing on the cake."

Silence settles over them again with the breeze, and Juliet doesn't even notice that she's shivering until Shawn chivalrously drapes his jacket across her shoulders.

"Thanks," she murmurs.

"No problem," he replies.

Back to the silence, and the thinking.

"I know it's horrible, but I keep thinking about how their divorce is going to affect me. How selfish is that? They've always put my feelings and my wellbeing above their own, and I can't even return the favor."

"Juliet, you know that's not –"

"I don't know what to do," Juliet says softly, almost to herself. "What am I going to do?"

"I don't know," Shawn answers her mostly-rhetorical question.

Juliet's unwilling to admit defeat but she can already feel the tears making their escape and streaking down her cheeks towards freedom.

Wordlessly, Shawn lifts his arm and Juliet leans into his shoulder. Strangely, upon contact with his shirt, Juliet's quiet tears turn into loud sobs that shake her whole body. Juliet cries like she hasn't cried in years, mostly because she hasn't. Shawn tightens his hold on her but she almost forgets he's there. Gradually, the sobs diminish and Juliet finds herself hiccuping for air against Shawn's damp shoulder.

She leans back and Shawn releases his grip. She wipes her eyes with the heels of her palms, glad she hadn't bothered with mascara this morning.

"Thanks," she mumbles, feeling her cheeks redden with embarrassment. She eventually brings herself to look at Shawn.

"Feel better?" he asks.

She's surprised to discover she does.

The wind picks up and both of them shiver. Juliet slips her arms into Shawn's jacket and wraps her arms around herself.

"Do you want to come hang out at the Psych office? Gus and I are supposed to have a Martin Short movie marathon tonight."

Juliet looks at her watch. "Maybe just one, then I should get back to my mom."

Shawn helps her to her feet, and they both shake sand off with little success. Juliet picks up her shoes and smiles at Shawn.

"Thanks," she says with more than the usual note of sincerity.

"You're welcome," he replies amiably, and they start the journey to the office in silence.

"You said it was a trial separation," Shawn says after a moment. "They might not even get divorced."

"You're right," Juliet says, swinging her shoes slightly. "And if they do, I can look forward to two Christmases."

"That's the spirit," Shawn praises with a wink, and Juliet feels the optimist inside her once again stir to life.


	10. Chapter 10 Theme 100: Relaxation

Chapter 10 - "Relaxation" (Theme 100)

* * *

If Karen were lucky, if Santa Barbara's criminals were considerate enough to allow her to leave at a decent hour, if her husband also managed to leave work on time, if traffic wasn't bad and if Iris wasn't cranky, if butterflies flew in the right directi

If Karen were lucky, if Santa Barbara's criminals were considerate enough to allow her to leave at a decent hour, if her husband also managed to leave work on time, if traffic wasn't bad and if Iris wasn't cranky, if butterflies flew in the right direction and the wind blew a certain way and the moon and stars aligned just so... Karen got to relax for upwards of five whole minutes.

Because of the assortment of complicated factors involved, this rarely ever happened. Sometimes she'd be close - she'd just be settling into the couch with her husband and a mug of hot peppermint tea, the fire place crackling in the blissful silence... and Iris would scream herself awake, or the bathroom would flood, or the phone would ring, no doubt announcing another dead body and of course waking Iris in the process.

Karen could probably count on one hand how many times she'd gotten to completely and utterly relax since becoming the Interim Chief of Police, and both of those times were before Iris was born and before the "Interim" was dropped from her job title.

She wouldn't trade motherhood for the world, but lately she'd been feeling the stress more and more. Lately, she'd decided she had to achieve relaxation in small, easy-to-handle parcels of time: the one hundred and thirty eight precious seconds waiting for her Starbucks on Monday mornings, the forced five minute wait when she happens to be stuck behind the 8:32 AM freight train, the full hour she sometimes allows herself to eat lunch and indulge in that damn Spanish soap opera Mr. Spencer had gotten her hooked on.

These random pockets of stress relief interspersed throughout her days sometimes alleviated her anxiety more than an extra-long bubble bath ever could.

There were times, though, when moments of peace and soothing bubbles couldn't begin to calm her nerves or undo the kink in her neck. During these times, when Karen felt herself tensing beyond normal, when she felt like she just didn't know how she was going to handle it all anymore, she merely had to think of her daughter. Little Iris, for whom she waited so long and who's already growing up much too quickly… little Iris was the reason Karen continued to function beyond exhaustion. It was now for her that she worked extra long hours to put criminals behind bars; it was now for her shining face and bubbly laugh that she so freely gave up her precious few moments of relaxation.


	11. Chapter 11 Theme 77: Test

Chapter 11 - Test (theme 77)

Spoiler: There's Something About Mira

* * *

Henry had pulled so many strings he could have been a cellist in the Santa Barbara symphony orchestra.

He paced the length of the hallway, glancing at the room beside him and wishing he could see through the blinds.

He had to do well. He had to.

Henry was grasping at straws now and he knew it. Shawn was fifteen and although he'd been slipping away from Henry for years, he was still Henry's son. So it may be straws, but at least he still had something to grasp.

There was a chance he wouldn't mess it up, there was a chance – ever so slight and glimmering in the distance – that Shawn just might take this seriously.

Henry began his pacing loop for the fifty-seventh time.

The test was taking longer than he remembered.

'No, no, it's not,' he corrected his thoughts. 'You've just grown more impatient.'

As he rounded a turn on loop number sixty-four, the door opened and officers flooded out. In the midst was Shawn, standing out in the sea of blue with his tattered jeans and "lucky" Supertramp t-shirt. He was mid-conversation with Everett when he saw Henry.

"Hey, Dad," Shawn greeted casually. His cool and relaxed demeanour grated on Henry's nerves more than usual.

"How'd it go?" Henry practically snapped. His daily dealings with his son had worn down the small reserves of patience he possibly once possessed.

Shawn grinned and gave a half-wave to Everett, who headed towards the throng of people approaching the front doors. Shawn's grin drooped a little as he turned to face Henry.

"Meh," he offered.

He was playing with Henry and Henry knew it.

"What do you mean, 'meh'? Do you think you did well?"

Shawn was enjoying himself too immensely to give up so soon. "It was good, it was bad," he offered as they headed from the double doors at the front of the building. "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times."

Henry suppressed the urge to shake some sense (or at least some sense of decency) into his boy.

"Shawn," he warned in a tone that, until recently, would have instantly gotten him the behaviour he wanted.

Shawn deftly ignored it, doing a skip-jog through the doors and out into the Santa Barbara sunshine. Henry was on his heels and met up with him outside the truck.

"How did it go?" he asked again, making no move to unlock the truck's doors.

Shawn sighed and shrugged. "I don't know, Dad. It's a test. We'll find out how I did when we get the test results."

His answer contained enough honesty to rank low enough on the patented Henry Spencer BS meter. Henry unlocked the doors and they climbed into the truck.

Henry's mind mulled over the possibilities, trying not to fixate on the ray of hope that Shawn had done well and would, against the ever-mounting odds, actually follow in his father's footsteps.

Next to him, Shawn let his eyes go in and out of focus as he stared out at the familiar scenery flying past. His dad knew almost everything, but there were two things that Shawn knew that Henry didn't.

The first was that Shawn had aced the detective exam.

Shawn vaguely hoped that the pride and excitement his dad was bound to feel at his grade would be some kind of consolation to his father, because the second thing that Shawn knew was that he wasn't going to be a cop.


	12. Chapter 12 Theme 12: Insanity

Chapter 12 - Insanity (Theme 12)

* * *

"Shawn, what are you doing?" Henry demanded tiredly.

"I'm preparing for the greatest television event in the history of the world!" Shawn declared amidst a sea of snacks in bags, plates, cups, boxes, and platters worthy of a large house party.

Henry rolled his eyes, gesturing to the large assortment of goodies covering every surface surrounding his son. "And what's all this?"

"Provisions," Shawn answered simply. Henry sank into the opposite end of the couch.

"Don't you have any homework?" He asked suspiciously. It was Wednesday; Shawn always had homework on a Wednesday.

Shawn shook his head, eyes on the TV. "Finished it all."

Henry gave him a look that Shawn could feel burning a hole into the side of his head.

"All right, all right, not all," Shawn admitted at last, turning to face his face his father and plead his case. "But this is too important to miss!"

Henry unbuttoned the top two buttons on his police uniform and rubbed at his collar. He didn't share Shawn's obvious enthusiasm for whatever momentous televised event was occurring that night.

"Give me the remote," he said quietly.

"No," Shawn protested. "I've commandeered the remote and the TV. Mom said it was okay."

"Shawn, it's my remote and my TV. Now go finish your homework."

"Aw, come on, Dad!" Shawn whined. Henry's stern look remained plastered to his face. Shawn sighed and tossed the remote control to Henry.

"Fine. But will you watch it for me in case I'm not done in time?"

"Yeah, yeah," Henry agreed in an attempt to get Shawn out of his hair.

"Dad, you don't even know what I was going to watch!" Shawn complained.

"Yes I do. It's the television event that's going to change the world tonight, isn't it?"

Shawn grinned. "Eight o'clock. ABC. You won't want to miss a second. I'll try to be down in time."

Shawn ran up the stairs, leaving Henry admittedly curious about the TV schedule. He half-heartedly searched the immediate area for the TV Guide but gave up when he knocked over a bowl of popcorn. He tossed a few kernels back in the bowl before deciding he'd make Shawn do it. After all, it was technically his mess.

Henry flipped through the channels and killed almost an hour without really watching anything. Just as he was ruminating on the powers of television to waste time, he happened to catch the time on the VCR display.

Curious despite himself, Henry grabbed the remote from its resting place on the arm of the sofa and clicked over to ABC.

The scene was dark and a bunch of cops were grappling with some teenage gang members.

Henry was contemplating why his son would be so excited about yet another cop show that he was caught off guard when the singing started.

He did a double-take.

Yes, that's right. The cops and gang members were singing to each other.

It was awf-

"Awesome!" Shawn decreed, running into the room and hopping on the couch next to Henry. "What did I miss?"

Henry couldn't quite comprehend what was going on. Yes, it had been a long day at work but surely he was not sitting and watching the insanity of a cop musical?

"Shawn, what the hell is this?"

Shawn grinned happily. "Only the greatest show ever!"

Henry looked back at the TV. Yup, they were still singing as the cops arrested them.

"What is this crap?"

"It's not crap, Dad. It's by Steven Bochco. He did Hill Street Blues. You like Hill Street Blues, right, Dad? Not to mention L.A. Law…"

Henry his the power button on the remote. "Shawn, this is not television. It is certainly not the greatest television event of all time."

"But they're cops. And they're singing," Shawn defended, gesturing to the TV. "They're singing cops!"

"Exactly! They're singing cops. It's the stupidest thing I've ever seen."

Shawn pouted. "It's the best thing you've ever seen," he said sulkily.

Henry looked over at him. "Pick up the popcorn and then go finish your homework."

"How did you know I wasn't done?"

"The same way I know this show will be cancelled before Christmas."

Shawn sighed heavily and picked up the popcorn without further complaint. Shoulders sagging, he trekked back upstairs.

Henry turned the television back on and switched over to NBC. There had to be something better on.

* * *

Okay, for those of you who've never heard of it, the show was "Cop Rock." Seriously - youtube it right now. Priceless!

And Henry was wrong. It made it until December 26.


	13. Chapter 13 Theme 75: Mirror

Chapter 13 - "Mirror" (Theme 75)

Vague references to several season one and season two episodes but nothing spoilery.

* * *

Gus wiped the steam off of the bathroom mirror and looked at himself.

Really, really looked.

Not bad.

But he was starting to notice those pesky wrinkles more and more.

Gus reached a hand up and gingerly pulled up the skin around his right eye. It looked better, but as soon as gravity was once again in charge the skin returned to its previous wrinkled position.

His hairline was receding slightly, not that it mattered. But it was just further proof that time was conspiring against him.

He was getting older.

And he was more alone than ever.

Gus never would have guessed that Shawn Spencer, Shawn who had fifty-seven jobs since high school, who laughed at the name Jorge, who always, _always _used chopsticks as walrus tusks, that very same Shawn Spencer would have settled down before him.

He loved his best friend. Shawn was like a brother to him, better than a brother, and yet he couldn't fight the confusion and twinge of jealousy that Shawn had beaten him.

Not that it was a competition. Even if it was, technically Gus would have won anyway thanks to Mira. But a wedding wasn't the goal; the marriage was.

Gus had had several serious girlfriends in his time, but no one he could picture growing old with. No one. And pfft. Shawn had known when he first laid eyes on her? Baloney.

Shawn and Gus weren't ones to believe in love at first sight... but Gus had to admit, reluctantly of course, that it'd pretty much been the case for Shawn. The lucky bastard.

Sure, it took years and years before he finally made his move – well, his successful move – but after that everything had fallen into place like it had been written out beforehand. Once upon a time, they lived happily ever after. Blah blah blah.

Where was Gus's happy ending? He was a good guy, damn it! He was smart and funny and caring. He had two well-paying and interesting jobs. Most importantly he had his Airwolf windbreaker back.

But where was the love?

Shawn had done a good job of balancing his work, his marriage, and his best friend, though Gus suspected it was simply because the three intersected so easily.

But now, now things were changing.

Shawn was, dear God, going to be a father.

Although Shawn pretended that nothing was going to change except the fact that he could finally buy jars of Gerber's Stage 2 Pineapple without strange looks, Gus knew differently.

Sure, there'd always be Psych but Shawn wasn't going to have any real free time for years.

In a few short months Gus was going to be all alone.

Well... if he was alone, he might as well enjoy himself.

He grabbed a towel and rubbed the residual moisture off the top of his glistening head. He decided to head to the space center. Reminding himself of the grand scale of the universe always cheered him up... and maybe there were some new, older interns.


	14. Chapter 14 Theme 87: Food

Chapter 14 - Food (Theme 87)

Spoilers for "Talk Derby to Me."

* * *

Shawn burst into the kitchen , two grocery bags hanging from each arm.

"Dad, I need a favor," he announced as he dropped the bags on the counter.

Henry looked up from his magazine with a slight smirk. "You're still not getting anywhere with your case?"

"What?" Shawn stared at him in complete confusion until Henry saw the realization dawn in his eyes. "No, no. Well, yes, but that's not why I'm here."

Henry dropped the magazine on the table and crossed his arms across his chest. "Then why are you here? What kind of favor do you need this time?"

"You know how small and unequipped my kitchen is; I need to borrow yours to make a special dinner."

Henry stood and walked over to the counter where Shawn was unloading his purchases. Crab meat, breadcrumbs, vegetables, a bottle of wine, strawberries, fresh dill?

Henry's mind immediately recalled his son's earlier glances at a certain undercover detective. "Shawn, what kind of special dinner?" he asked suspiciously.

Shawn didn't seem to hear him; he pointed to the various comestibles as if checking off a mental shopping list.

"Damn it, I forgot the coriander. Dad, I know I've teased you for your spice rack before, but please tell me you have coriander."

Henry hid a chuckle with a cough. "Of course I have coriander." He took a few steps over to the spice rack, gave it a spin, and plucked out a small jar. "Now, what exactly is going on?"

"I have about two hours-" Shawn looked up at the clock. "I have an hour and a half to fix up my world famous crab cakes."

Henry eyed Shawn critically as his son flitted here and there, pulling pots and pans and trays out from wherever he could find them.

"You mean _my_ world famous crab cakes?"

Shawn stopped, a pot raised mid-air. "I'm pretty sure it was _my_ crab cakes that were enjoyed in South America and Europe."

"Shawn-"

"Fine, _your_ crab cakes. Whatever. Are you going to help me or debate recipe origins?"

"I'll help you." Henry opened the breadcrumb container. Shawn was already finely chopping a green pepper.

Henry shook his head at the mess Shawn had already made. "So," he started congenially. "Gus put a special request in tonight?"

He watched Shawn out of the corner of his eye, but the younger man's poker face was solid.

"Dad, forget it. Go watch the game or something."

"What game?"

"You have how many sports channels in your cable package? There's always a game on somewhere," Shawn dropped the pepper into a mixing bowl. "Now go on, scoot, get out of my kitchen."

Shawn made a shooing motion with his hands and started to tear through the crab meat packaging.

"Your kitchen?" Henry nudged Shawn over. "Give me that. You're doing it wrong already."

An hour and twenty three minutes later, Henry was helping Shawn carry the Tupperware containers into the Psych office.

"I expect these back tomorrow."

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Your precious Tupperware will be fine. I'll wash them myself." Off Henry's look, Shawn added, "I'll have Gus wash them."

"Tomorrow, Shawn," Henry warned, though they both knew full well he wouldn't see the containers for at least a week.

Shawn surveyed the room with a critical eye. He was already rearranging furniture in his mind.

Henry pulled the keys out of his pocket and jingled them in his palm to get Shawn's attention. "I'm going to get going," he decided, though his curiosity wanted him to stay and hide in the back room.

"Oh, okay," Shawn said absently.

Henry was almost out the door when Shawn jogged over to him. "Thanks, Dad." His face and his voice were nothing but sincere.

It was unnerving.

Henry merely nodded at him. 'Good luck, kid,' he thought, then headed home.


	15. Chapter 15 Theme 50: Breaking the Rules

Chapter 15 - Breaking the Rules (Theme 50)

You know, I sit down to write more of "Little Boy Blue and the Man in the Moon" and yet more post-ep Derby stuff comes out! There's at least two more that I know will be surfacing soon. I guess this is a good way to get some of these 100 themes done. :-)

Spoilers obviously for "Talk Derby to Me."

* * *

Lassiter was still booking the roller derby murderers when the Chief arrived back at the station.

"McNab, can I see you a second?" she asked as she headed to her office. Buzz, who had been on his way for a refill of coffee, changed course and followed her.

"Close the door."

Buzz spun around and closed the door, then cautiously approached the Chief's desk.

"Yes, Chief?" He couldn't help the hint of nervousness in his voice. Chief Vick smiled slightly, but it didn't calm his nerves.

"Are you still in charge of the pool?"

Buzz's eyebrows furrowed. He stared at her quizzically, his mind on the local community rec center. "The pool?"

Sure, he and Francie had a membership there, but it wasn't like he was a lifeguard or anything.

Chief Vick rolled her eyes, more at herself than her officer; she hadn't been very clear. "The betting pool."

Buzz's eyes went wide and his cheeks flushed fire-engine red. "Wha-why would you, of course not, Chief. We don't, I mean, there aren't any, we don't have any betting pools."

Vick picked up her purse from where she'd dropped it next to her desk. "McNab, don't give me that. I know there're several pools. I'm most interested in the one you're running."

At Buzz's worried face, she added, "Don't worry. I'm not trying to crash the party," she held up her wallet. "I want in."

Buzz grinned. He raised a wrist to wipe the sweat from his forehead. "How much?"

Chief Vick pulled out a twenty and handed it to Buzz. "Here. So... how does it work? Do I pick a day? A month?"

Buzz sat down, his hands becoming animated while discussing a subject dear to his heart. "We decided that months were probably easiest. A day would be too difficult. It's 10 per month, so you can pick two. I'll go get the list."

Buzz returned moments later, excitement still etched into his face. "Do you have any specific months in mind?"

Chief Vick contemplated the looks she'd observed on the latest case. "December," she decided.

"This year?" Buzz was surprised. The pool extended well into 2011.

"Yes. And," she paused, thinking. "Let's say August 2009."

Buzz nodded, making notes on his chart. "Detective Lassiter picked that month, too."

Chief Vick smiled. She hadn't thought it would have been Carlton's thing.

"So what happens if I win?"

"If Shawn and Detective O'Hara start dating during your month, you get the whole pot, unless someone else also guessed that month in which case it's split evenly between all the winners."

"Sounds fair," Chief Vick decided. Buzz grinned.

"You really think this Christmas?"

"Oh, probably not," she answered lightly. "But you never know."

She looked up at Buzz. "Now, back to work, McNab."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied with a smile.

As Buzz closed the door to her office, leaving her in peace, Chief Vick contemplated calling Henry. He was a betting man; he'd probably want in on it, too.


	16. Chapter 16 Theme 98: Puzzle

Another Derby fic! And Henry and Shawn again. I know, enough already, right? **Never! **Anyway, this one started originally off the prompt "sport" but quickly deviated from it so much that it became unpromptable. I assigned it "puzzle," mostly because its theme puzzled me.

This one is a companion piece to Chapter 14's "Food." Spoilers are for "Talk Derby to Me." And I'll probably be moving on from this episode soon. ;-)

Chapter 16 - Puzzle (theme 98)

* * *

Henry was scrubbing the bathtub when he heard the front door slam.

For a split second his body tensed, then he realized that a daytime burglar would not be dumb enough to slam doors; besides, that was his son's trademark.

Sure enough, there was a bellowed "Dad?" followed by feet pounding up the stairs. Henry continued to scrub and didn't bother to look up when Shawn poked his head in.

"Hi, Shawn. What do you need now?"

Shawn grinned at him and picked at a loose flake of paint on the door frame. "What makes you say that?"

"Well," Henry paused, sitting back on his haunches to face his son. "Are you here to return my Tupperware?"

Shawn's grin widened. "Of course not. But the day's not over yet."

"Yeah, I won't hold my breath," Henry said dryly. He dropped the sudsy brush into the tub and stood, his knees popping. He rubbed at his thighs which burned from the effort of squatting. He couldn't help but shake the feeling that he was getting old; he hated that feeling.

Shawn narrowed his eyes at his dad's actions but didn't comment. Instead, he stepped backwards into the hall and pointed at the ceiling. "I need to get into the attic."

"Oh yeah?" Henry asked interestedly, wiping his hands on a towel. "You're finally going to clear some of your stuff out of my house?"

Shawn shook his head as his father joined him in the hallway. "No. Just one thing."

Henry stopped. "What one thing?"

Shawn's eyes avoided Henry's, making him appear all the more suspicious. "Nothing, really."

Henry crossed his arms. He still hadn't heard how the crab cakes went over - hell, he wasn't likely ever to know how they went over, nor was he likely to get his prized Tupperware back - but this was too much. "If it's nothing, then you can go home and I can finish cleaning the bathroom."

Shawn hesitated, and Henry fought the strong urge to gloat.

"Dad, I need my skates."

"Your skates?" Henry repeated. He suddenly had a bad feeling. "Please tell me you and Gus aren't going to start your own roller derby team."

Shawn started to laugh but abruptly stopped as he (mock?)pondered the idea. "I hadn't even thought of that, but that would be awesome!"

"Shawn-"

"I just need my skates, Dad. It's not related to the derby at all," he thought for a moment before adding, "-ish."

Henry rolled his eyes but ended up walking down the hall. He pulled the cord and extended the ladder down before gesturing that Shawn could ascend.

Shawn walked forward and as his foot hit the first step, Henry warned, "Don't make a mess up there."

"Do you know me at all?" Shawn replied as he disappeared into the attic.

Henry felt the brief tightness in his chest that usually accompanied discussions with his son. He returned to the bathroom and was rinsing the tub when he heard the sound of something crashing to the floor above him and a muffled curse.

Henry groaned and turned the water up higher, hoping to block out the sound of whatever Shawn was doing up there.

Looked like cleaning the attic was next on the list.

Even as he rinsed, Henry's mind worked over the latest details in his crazy son's crazy life. Shawn needed his skates, but it wasn't strictly derby-related. Shawn needed emergency crab cake assistance, and then went strangely mum on the subject. Not to mention Shawn seemed awfully well put together for simply going roller skating.

Something was going on with him, Henry was sure of it. Something possibly heartening and probably involving Detective O'Hara.

Henry grinned at the idea. It was entirely possible that his son was actually starting to grow up.

Just as he was coming to terms with the mind-boggling (and well, _well_ overdue) possibility, Shawn stuck his head in the bathroom. His dusty skates were dangling off his shoulder, a giant foam finger had sprouted on one hand, and a multicolored propeller beanie cap sat on his head.

"See ya," he said cheerfully, waving his foam hand and disappearing down the hall.

Henry hurried to his feet, suppressing a groan as his knees cracked again. He wiped his hands on his pants and hurried after his son.

"Shawn, wait a minute!" he called. Shawn, already down the steps, paused and looked at him expectantly.

"First of all, you look ridiculous."

Henry reached out and grabbed the hat off his head.

"Hey!" Shawn protested, his hand flying up to smooth his now-unruly hair.

"And give me that foam finger, too. Do you really expect me to let you ride that deathtrap you call a vehicle while you're wearing that?"

Shawn rolled his eyes. "I'm not a kid anymore, Dad. You can't tell me what to do." But even as he was saying it, he was sliding the blue foam off his hand.

"Just wear your damn helmet," Henry instructed tiredly as Shawn headed for the front door.

Shawn rolled his eyes again. "Bye, Dad."

Henry followed him to the door, watching as he walked over to his motorcycle, the skates shifting and hitting his butt with every step. Henry watched him for a moment, wondering what exactly Shawn had planned and if poor Detective O'Hara knew what she was in for.

"Have fun!" Henry called. Shawn turned around and gave him a weird look complete with a lopsided smile, then climbed on the Norton, making a big show of putting on his helmet.

When Shawn roared away, Henry closed the door and locked it. "Have fun?" he asked out loud to himself.

He certainly _was_ getting old.

* * *

For some reason, I keep picturing Shawn in the propeller beanie and chuckling to myself... I need a life. ;-)


	17. Chapter 17 Theme 72: Mischief Managed

Chapter 17 - Mischief Managed (Theme 72)

Just a little bit of fun while I try to get "Little Boy Blue " to play nice. Henry, Young Shawn, and Madeleine... and the Cinnamon Festival

* * *

"Henry, what is that?"

"It's the latest child restraining device."

"It looks like a leash."

Henry glanced at the rainbow-colored straps in his hands. "I'd call it more of a harness."

"Henry, it's a leash. Are we getting a puppy?"

"Hell no."

"Then why did you buy a _leash_?"

"For the last time, Mad, it's not a leash. It's a child restraint device and it's for Shawn."

Madeleine was more amused than angry. She crossed her arms. "Our son is not going to wear a leash."

"It's not a leash," Henry growled, adjusting the straps. "Shawn!" he called.

A three-year-old bundle of energy tore into the living room.

"Come here," Henry said, gesturing. Shawn took a few tentative steps closer to his father.

"Henry, you're not actually serious, are you?" Mad asked, even though she knew the answer. "I don't want to walk around the Cinnamon Festival with our son on a leash."

"Harness."

"It's the same thing! We'll just bring the stroller."

Henry was already weaving Shawn's little limbs through the straps. "He doesn't sit in the stroller. He unbuckles himself and climbs out, remember? We practically ran him over last time."

She remembered; Shawn's foot had gotten caught in the wheel as he made his escape and she'd only just managed to save him from cracking his skull on the sidewalk.

Maybe Henry did have a point.

He snapped the clasps shut and turned Shawn so his mother could admire his handiwork. "It almost blends in with the stripes on his shirt."

Madeleine surveyed the brightly colored straps and the large black clasps and shook her head. It didn't blend in at all with Shawn's blue and yellow shirt.

"All right, boys. Let's go."

They'd only been at the Cinnamon Festival for a little over an hour before Madeleine was searching for the port-a-potties.

"Oh, the lines are so long," Mad lamented. "Henry, why don't you take Shawn over to get a funnel cake while I wait? I'll meet up with you guys in front of the cinnamon fountain."

Henry agreed and, when Shawn didn't move, gave a little tug on the leash. 'Child restraint device,' Henry automatically corrected.

They made the short trip over to the funnel cake stand. The line was fairly short, and Henry clipped the end of the strap onto his belt loop before reaching into his pocket for his wallet.

"I'll take one large funnel cake," he ordered, handing the guy a few bills. The man handed him back the change, coins on top of bills just like Henry hated. Why was it so difficult to give coins first? That way, the money wouldn't slid off the paper bills. It was common sense.

Henry shook his head as he grasped the greasy paper plate sporting their cholesterol-laden treat. He broke off a piece and reached down to hand it to Shawn.

Instead he found himself offering it to the unoccupied end of the leash.

Trying to suppress the panic already tightening around his heart, Henry's eagle eyes immediately began to scan the crowd. The forgotten funnel cake flopped unceremoniously to the ground.

"Shawn!"

He wasn't taken, he wasn't stolen; Henry would have noticed an adult crouching behind him. Henry would have noticed someone kidnapping his son. Shawn must have merely unbuckled himself and wandered off. He wasn't taken. He wasn't stolen.

He couldn't be.

Henry's eyes roamed the rippling waves of pedestrians, searching for the slightest glimpse of spiky brown hair and a green and yellow shirt.

For a few moments of eternity, he saw nothing. Then he started taking in all the details of the festival goers, noting and processing the unhelpful information without realizing it.

'Damn it, Henry. Focus,' he chastised himself. 'If I were Shawn, where would I go?'

His eyes had settled on it a few seconds before his brain caught up. "The fountain!"

He was there in six worried strides. He jogged the perimeter.

Shawn wasn't there.

Where the hell was he?

Just as Henry could feel the terror starting to overwhelm him, he spied a familiar shirt next to the smoothie booth.

He was there in seconds, launching himself towards his son.

Henry's fierce hug startled Shawn, whose suddenly terrified eyes welled up. Henry felt a wet stickiness on his chest before Shawn started bawling.

For a split second he feared it was blood.

His mind already running through a thousand unpleasant scenarios, Henry, without releasing his death grip on Shawn, pulled himself back far enough to check his son for wounds.

He noticed for the first time the crushed Styrofoam cup in the boy's hands

Shawn wasn't hurt.

Shawn was okay.

Slowly, Henry's mind started to function again. He came to the realization that the entire front of his shirt was now covered in a sticky yellow goo.

How the hell had Shawn gotten a pineapple smoothie?

When Madeleine returned from the port-a-potties moments later, she discovered her husband sitting at the fountain, Shawn on his lap. She smiled at them before her eyes could take in Shawn's red eyes and tear-streaked face, and a strange stain on Henry's shirt, barely visible above Shawn's head.

Henry stood upon seeing her and, to her surprise, Shawn moved with him as if strapped to his chest.

"What happened?" she asked.

Henry didn't answer, but he couldn't hide the intricately tied rainbow straps that now linked their son to his father's chest.

"You ready to go home?" he asked her.

She was no fool; something had happened and besides, the Cinnamon Festival would be there next year.

"Of course," she announced, reaching a hand out to hold his.

They headed for the exit gates.

She knew Henry would tell her what had happened once they'd gotten home, and there was no doubt it was something serious, but for the moment she couldn't help but tease him.

"So I take it the leash didn't work," she chided gently.

Henry grunted.

The din of the festival slowly faded as they walked deeper into the parking lot.

"What kind of 'child restraint device' are we going to use on him now?" she wondered. She smiled wryly at her husband.

Henry looked down at Shawn, who was busily licking the remnants of smoothie out from between his chubby fingers.

"Handcuffs."


	18. Chapter 18 Theme 33: Expectations

Post ep for "Christmas Joy." Because Shawn's not that selfish...

* * *

"Merry Christmas."

Shawn had made it all the way to the front door without a word from Henry. He was expecting a "Shawn!" or a "Hey!" or at least a growling noise of some sort.

But when he returned to the living room moments later, his father was still staring at the table. Was that a little bit of disappointment Shawn detected underneath the layers of shock and sore-loserness?

"Dad, did you honestly think I didn't get you anything?"

Henry looked up, his gruff mask back in place.

"You don't have to get me anything, Shawn."

"Of course not," Shawn agreed, plopping back onto the couch. "And maybe I didn't. Maybe I wanted to bask in my superiority."

"A two-year winning streak doesn't make you superior," Henry declared, punctuating his words with a grunt as he stood.

"No, but my hair more than makes up for that."

Henry bent down to collect the stray bits of wrapping paper from the floor. "Well, congratulations, kid."

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Your present's in the red box."

Henry faced the box; it was still on the table.

"Shawn, I'm not an idiot. The box was empty."

"Trust me, Dad."

Still clutching the scraps of wrapping paper, Henry sank back into the couch. He reached over for the gift. Though he knew it was empty, he shook it anyway. It was silent.

"Shawn, you won the game. You don't have to gloat, too. So if you don't mind, this place is a mess, and I really need to-"

"You know," Shawn started, already feigning to cry. "It really offends me that you don't trust me."

He wiped a fake tear off his cheek and reached over to flip the box in his father's hands. Sure enough, taped to the underside of the top was a small Christmas card.

Henry glanced over at Shawn as he opened the envelope. Shawn's face was blank, except for the slight upturn in the corner of his mouth.

Henry hid his own smile. He should have known Shawn was up to something.

Shawn was always up to something.

It was just a generic Christmas card with a small snowman on the cover. Inside, written ransom-note style with cut out magazine letters, was "GO TO THE GARAGE."

Henry rolled his eyes.

"Are you really making me get up and go into my own garage?"

"I'm not making you do anything, Dad. But if you want to see your present..." Shawn trailed off as Henry stood. He followed his father to the garage, practically bouncing from the effort of holding it in.

Henry waved the Christmas card at Shawn before he opened the door. "There better not be a dead body in here."

"Why would I bring a dead body to your house? And give it to you for Christmas? If I had a dead body, wouldn't the logical thing be to bury it far away from the garage of an ex-cop?"

Henry opened the door with a sigh. He fumbled for the switch and light flooded the room.

"Ta da!" Shawn exclaimed proudly.

Henry was tempted to rub his eyes because he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

The garage was clean. Cleaner than clean. Everything was in its place, and the things that hadn't had places now had places and were indeed in them. The truck was shiny with a new coat of wax, and, sitting in front of it with a big red bow on it, was a brand new Craftsman tool chest.

The same exact kind Henry passed longingly every time he was in Home Depot but couldn't justify spending the money.

Henry walked over to the chest. He ran his hands over the smooth metal, coming to rest at the edge of the bow.

"Shawn," he said gruffly. He cleared his throat, but not because he was getting choked up.

Grinning, Shawn joined Henry's side. He slid open one of the drawers to reveal the mix of new and used tools within.

"Your tools were sliding around a lot in there, so I had to get you some filler."

Henry rubbed the back of his neck and pondered his son.

"How did you...?"

"A psychic never reveals his secrets," Shawn beamed proudly.

Henry played with the edge of the bow before looking up at his son.

"Thank you."

"Thank you."

Henry patted Shawn's shoulder appreciatively.

"Merry Christmas, Dad."

"Merry Christmas, Kid."

As they headed back inside the house, Shawn shook his head playfully. "And you thought I didn't get you anything for Christmas," he chuckled.

Henry smacked the back of his head.


	19. Chapter 19 Theme 16: Questioning

Shawn thinks he is in love with Juliet... but he doesn't know the first thing about her.

* * *

Juliet had had enough.

"Shawn."

Shawn looked innocently at her. "What?"

The flirting had to stop. He was charming, sure, and he was a lot of fun. In fact, Juliet could see herself falling for him, probably in the very near future. But for all his alleged psychicness, she was surprised that he could claim to be in love with her.

Even after all these years, he barely knew her.

He had a handful of trivia, a few dozen police cases, a smattering of personal details... in other words, he had nothing.

"How many brothers do I have?"

Shawn narrowed his eyes. She saw his memory hard at work but she knew ultimately it would draw a blank. "Five?" he guessed.

She shook her head. "My parents' names?"

"Mom and Dad," he answered with a trademark grin.

She rolled her eyes.

"Where did I grow up? Where did I go to college? Why did I leave Miami?"

Shawn couldn't hide a slight gulp at her series of questions.

"Was I the little girl in the dress, crying when her brothers would torture her? Or was I the little girl in the dress who climbed trees and cut her Barbie's hair? Or did I hate dresses? Did I even have Barbies?"

"Jules," Shawn said quietly. He obviously saw where she was going.

"What's my favorite book? Favorite TV show? Have I ever walked out of a movie? What was my first concert? Do I still have the t-shirt?"

"Jules."

"My first boyfriend? First kiss? First total heartbreak? Last?"

"Jules."

"Do I have a tattoo? A strange piercing? Did I ever dye my hair a crazy color? Do I wish I had the courage to chop it all off?"

"Juliet."

"Okay, fine. A simple one: how do I take my coffee?"

She looked over at Shawn, expecting him to look defeated, or saddened, or at least not so damn chipper. But he was still grinning at her.

"First of all, Jules, of course I know how you take your coffee," Shawn responded calmly without providing the answer. "Give me a little credit, okay? As for the rest of your Spanish Inquisition... sure, I don't have all the answers, but I know a really good way of finding out."

The look on his face was so comically hopeful that Juliet almost laughed out loud.

"Let me guess - you suggest we go on a date?"

Shawn looked confused. "Well, I was going to say I could call your mother, but your way sounds good, too."

Juliet grinned despite herself. "I walked right into that, didn't I?"

"I wouldn't know. I don't know you well enough to make that kind of judgment."

Juliet sighed. "Never mind."

Shawn might not know her very well, but she knew him. She should have known better.


	20. Chapter 20 Theme 56: Danger Ahead

It was late Saturday afternoon when a ball of nerves descended upon Henry's house.

"Hey, Dad," Shawn greeted almost absently, plopping down on the far end of the couch.

"Hey, Shawn," Henry replied, his finger hovering over the mute button.

On the screen, Mythbusters Adam and Jamie were describing the myth of the airplane and the conveyor belt. The idea was that a plane on a conveyor belt that was going the same speed in the opposite direction of the plane wouldn't be able to take off. It was a pretty controversial myth, and they were attempting to settle it by using a model plane and a treadmill.

Shawn sighed but said nothing, and Henry didn't silence the TV. For a while, they watched the show, each enjoying it in his own way: Henry because he appreciated the methodologies and their love of seeking the truth; and Shawn because there were often explosions.

Just as Henry was starting to consider that the was the Jamie to Shawn's Adam, his son jumped up like a kernal of overheated popcorn and started pacing.

"Dad, I know i don't normally ask you for advice-"

Henry snorted.

Scowling, Shawn continued. "Or, actually, I don't listen to your advice, but this time is different. I need your help."

Henry turned down the volume of the TV and turned slightly. His mind started to race.

Shawn had been unusually tranquil as of late. Henry never would have expected him to stick with Psych for longer than six months, much less several years. He was between cases at the moment (Henry knew this because Shawn hadn't asked him for help with a case for two weeks), so it likely wasn't a professional problem. Henry hadn't even driven by the kid's apartment lately so his bike probably wans't impounded.

The number of things for which Shawn would ask his father for advice had dwindled.

Henry's brain had worked quickly and only a moment had passed since Shawn's confession.

"What's wrong?" Henry asked, already knowing what it might be. 'Nah,' he thought. 'Shawn would never ask me for help with his personal life.'

Shawn paused in his pacing, shifting so he was facing away.

"No, never mind. I can't, it's stupid," Shawn declared, not meeting his father's eyes as he sank back into the couch.

Dear God!

Henry nearly choked.

Shawn was asking him for help with his personal life!

Henry's eyes flicked longingly to the television set. Delighted though he was that Shawn was asking for guidance, he'd rather watch the commercials than start this conversation.

Henry didn't know how to respond without sounding too keen, so he decided on the patented antagonism of reverse psychology.

"Fine," he said, looking for the remote. Adam and Jamie had decided to perform the model plane experiment in full scale.

His fingers hadn't even grasped the edge of the remote when Shawn continued.

"But... I don't know what to do. I tried talking to Gus, but he's all distracted wtih that new decongestant. And, strangely enough, you're my second choice."

"I'm flattered," Henry's sarcasm perfectly negated the actual meaning of his words.

Shawn took a breath, turning sideways to face Henry again, his legs folded beside him.

"Nah, this is too weird," he decided, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

"Okay," Henry shifted his gaze back to the TV, Shawn and his hesitation in his periphery.

"But I'm really at a loss."

Henry swiveled to face his son. "I can't help you, Shawn, if you won't tell me what's wrong."

For a moment, Henry felt like he was talking to eight-year-old Shawn again.

Shawn sighed heavily. He looked down at his hands and, still not meeting Henry's eyes, admitted his shameful secret.

"I'm in love."

"Pardon?"

Shawn looked up, meeting Henry's gaze. "I'm in love, Dad, and I don't want to screw it up."

Oh, Henry was in over his head. What was he supposed to say? And why had Shawn come to him, Mr. Divorce himself, with this problem?

Henry stopped short of asking him that, settling on what he figured Mad would say.

"Why would you screw it up?"

Shawn laughed sharply, gesturing vaguely with a hand. "You of all people should know. I screw up everything."

"I never said that, Shawn."

Some times, sure, but not everything. Surely the figure of confidence and ego that he called his son knew that.

Shawn made a face. "This is about me, Dad. Not you."

Henry couldn't help rolling his eyes. "I know that," he snapped.

Shawn sighed again, for once in his life reluctant to open his mouth.

"She's the one, Dad. I know it. I'd propose right now if I didn't think it'd scare her away. I... I don't want to screw it up. I don't want to hurt her."

Henry took a moment to gather his thoughts.

"You're going to hurt her," he said simply.

Shawn's face fell.

"Not purposefully," Henry continued. "But you will. It's part of the deal. As soon as you care, you can hurt. And get hurt. It's unavoidable. The big stuff you can help most of the time. But sometimes it's the little things, and that's just part of love. Part of life, really. You're going to hurt her, Kid, and she's going to hurt you, too.

"Thanks for the pep talk," Shawn commented sarcastically. "That was a comfort."

"It should be," Henry replied. "It takes the pressure off."

Shawn scofffed.

"There's plenty of pressure," he paused, picking at a cuticle. "We've been out a few times already, but..." Shawn trailed off, unsure if he should continue.

Henry waited.

"I haven't even kissed her yet, Dad. I just, I don't, I'm so nervous all the time. I don't know what she's thinking or what she's feeling. I hate it."

Henry suppressed a grin. His son had it bad.

"If you've known each other for years, and you've been out a couple of times, and she hasn't run away screaming yet, I don't think you'll have to worry."

Shawn grinned despite himself. "Thanks, Dad," he said dryly, but his face looked more relaxed.

He glanced at the clock and leapt to his feet. "I've gotta get going," he announced, heading to the door. "I've got a date tonight."

Henry gave a small wave as his son took off, the door slamming behind him.

On the muted television, the plane was just taking off.

He always knew it was going to fly. 


	21. Chapter 21 Theme 24: No Time

After a conversation with CK, I was falling asleep the other night and had two ideas for separate but equally silly chapters. I'll have the other one up tomorrow, hopefully along with the next chapter of "Little Boy Blue." Until then, hope you enjoy the absurdity.

* * *

Shawn was at home in the bathroom when he first noticed it.

He actually felt it before he saw it, although visual confirmation came once he maneuvered around to the mirror.

He stared forlornly at the sink.

He was too young. This wasn't supposed to happen to young guys... although a friend of his had it at twenty-two.

Oh God. And there was family history. How Shawn longed (yet again) to change his genes!

But it was too late.

He didn't know specifics, didn't know the arsenal of treatment options available to him courtesy of modern science - all he knew was that he didn't have much longer.

His list of things to do before he - no. He couldn't think that way. He had to be optimistic. Even if it was too late, even if it had spread, Shawn would take it like a man.

Right after he was done sobbing like a little girl.

With one last, determined look in the mirror, Shawn steeled himself and headed for the station.

"Hey, Jules, I need a small favor," he began, catching up to his favorite detective by her desk.

She opened and closed drawer after drawer, searching for the file she'd had only a moment earlier.

Where had she put it?

"What's up, Shawn?" she asked distractedly.

And then, without any preface or slow build, Shawn blurted out, "Will you have a baby with me?"

Juliet froze, her eyes wide. Was it just her or did the entire station just get a little quieter.

"I'm sorry, what?"

Shawn's face was somber as he repeated himself. "Will you have a baby with me?"

Juliet stared in amazement, her file search completely forgotten. "I thought that's what you said," she said slowly. "First of all, that's not a 'small favor.' Secondly, uh, what the hell are you talking about?" Her voice indicated that she clearly thought he'd lost his mind.

Shawn sank dejectedly into her chair. "Jules, please say yes. I don't have a lot of time."

Juliet took in his pleading tone and worried posture. He looked... troubled.

Defeated, even.

Suddenly, it didn't seem like Shawn's request had been so flippant and eccentric. It was almost as if...

Juliet bent down in front of the chair, her hand on one of the arms. "Shawn, are you okay? Did you, did you have a vision?"

"Jules, just have a baby with me, okay? I don't want to burden you with the details, but I don't have much time."

Juliet felt her stomach tighten. "You're dying?" she whispered in disbelief.

Shawn made a vague gesture with one hand, apparently trying to reassure her. "We're all dying, Jules," he paused thoughtfully. "I just want to pass on my genes. You're the perfect candidate. You'll be a great mom. I just, I want to hold my baby before I-"

Juliet held up a hand to interrupt him. She didn't want him to say it. He was a good friend, one of her best, and she didn't want to think about losing him.

No matter how good of friends they were, though, she wasn't going to have a baby with him... even if that baby would have his sparkling hazel eyes and some pretty amazing hair.

And his laugh. She loved his laugh.

No.

No. She couldn't.

"I'll think about it," she somehow found herself saying. What? "Maybe in a few years," she added. No! No way.

Shawn ran a hand through his hair and clasped the back of his neck.

"Okay. Just keep in mind there's a time issue."

"Oh," Juliet's face fell at the reminder. How could she have been so callous? "How much time did the doctor give you?" she asked gently.

"I didn't go to the doctor," he answered simply.

"Then how do you know you're dying?"

"Who said anything about dying? Jules, this is much worse!"

Using both hands, Shawn pointed at his head. "I'm going gray! And my hairline's receding! My kids can't see me bald!"


	22. Chapter 22 Theme 22: Mother Nature

Because Liam is taking longer than expected, here is a little something to hold off Jash before she threatens my life. :-)

Thanks to CK for helping me when I got stuck. You rock, my TV soulmate!

Oh, and while my cousin did just have a baby girl (Delany Autumn), I did not follow up my initial visit in the same manner as Juliet. :)

* * *

It was all her cousin's fault.

And Johnson & Johnson.

Mostly the cousin. Well, 50/50.

Her cousin Neal was two years younger than Juliet. He'd been happily married for years to a cheerful and friendly architect named Rita, and five days ago she gave birth to the reason that Juliet had gone insane.

Isabella Autumn was born on Tuesday. Juliet had wanted to visit them in the hospital, but unfortunately her case load was too heavy to make it.

During her congratulatory call she promised she'd drove up to Ojai that weekend. And she did.

Bearing a gift bag with diapers in various sizes and a teddy bear softer than Juliet had ever conceived, she made it to their house fairly early on Saturday afternoon.

Isabella was asleep so she caught up with Neal and Rita.

Rita, a natural born storyteller like Neal, amused her with the tale of the birth and all the antics leading up to it.

Juliet had always loved children. Whenever she left herself dream of a personal life, she imagined getting married to a great guy and having three boys. Not that she wouldn't love a daughter, but thanks to her brothers and her career she knew how to handle boys.

Yet, two seconds after Neal handed her the bundle of pink, she changed her mind.

Only five days old, Isabella was so tiny. Everything about her was new and precious - her petite fingers with miniature fingernails, her perfect soft skin and chubby cheeks. The folds around her little elbows and knees were too cute for words.

Juliet was infatuated.

Isabella opened her mouth and yawned.

Rocking her gently in the crook of her arm, Juliet smiled down at her. "She's amazing," she breathed, running a hand softly over the wisps of feathery hair covering her delicate, still-forming skull. "And she smells so good."

Neal grinned. "She just had her first bath this morning," he explained.

"And that Johnson and Johnson baby lotion helps, too," Rita added with a smile.

Juliet's attention returned to the infant snuggling against her.

She took a whiff - new baby smell was easily ten times better than new car smell.

Isabella opened her eyes, first only a fraction but then all the way. Her brand new blue eyes rolled around, searching and observing. She settled on staring at Juliet's face.

Infatuation had turned to love.

Suddenly, the baby's lips curled up into an adorable smile. "She smiled at me!" Juliet exclaimed, as jubilant as a kid on Christmas morning.

"Not to demean that in any way," Neal piped up. "But it was probably gas."

Rita playfully slapped his arm. "Shut up. Don't ruin it for her."

Juliet ended up staying hours longer than she intended. She held the baby the whole time, even fed her a teensy tiny bottle and changed a diaper (whose smell was considerably less adorable than new baby). When she finally left to head back to Santa Barbara, her chest and arms felt cold and empty.

She stopped at Albertson's on the way home; she hadn't been grocery shopping in a while and didn't feel much like a dinner of pumpkin pie mix and sweet peas (the only things she could readily remember being in her pantry).

In the back corner of the store, she grabbed some milk and sighed.

The baby aisle was right there.

Only two away.

Maybe...?

She wasn't sure what she was doing, but it appeared that her biological clock needed to smell that baby lotion again. It was like a whiff of utopia.

She scanned the rows for the pink bottle she'd seen at their house.

'Aha!' she almost said out loud, taking the bottle down. She snapped open the lid and took a sniff.

Heaven. Pure heaven.

On most days, Juliet's brain was in charge of her body. Every so often, her body would have a chance, and as she stood there in Aisle 18 smelling baby lotion, there was no doubt in Juliet's mind who was in charge that day.

The lotion was on sale and, for a split second, she considered buying it before she ultimately decided it'd be creepy.

She flipped the cap back down and lifted it up towards its former spot on the shelf, almost dropping it when a familiar voice startled her.

"Jules?"

She spun around guiltily, the lotion still in her hands. "Shawn?!"

He was farther down the aisle but in five eager strides he was by her side.

She quickly returned the lotion but she could tell by his amused grin that he'd seen it all.

"Fancy meeting you here," he smirked, adjusting his grip on the basket in his hands.

"Just picking up a few groceries," she babbled quickly, pointing to her cart. "Milk, eggs, bread-"

"Babies?" Shawn asked, eyes twinkling.

Juliet cursed herself for having such alabaster skin; she could feel how red her cheeks were, which only made them redder.

'Think, O'Hara, think. An excuse, a distraction, a joke even.'

"Actually, I think those are in Aisle 7," she quipped, mentally high-fiving herself for the quick response.

"Ah yes," Shawn humored her. "Right between the Cheerios and the Diet Coke."

"Right," Juliet nodded. She needed another distraction before Shawn started asking questions... but her mind was blank. 'Thanks a lot,' she told herself. What a day for her brain not to be in charge!

Shawn pointed to the bottle she'd put back on the shelf. "Good choice," he assessed. "And they're on sale this week."

She couldn't take that smirk anymore. "Fine!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air in defeat. "You win. I was smelling the baby lotion. I'm pathetic and insane and should be locked away."

She looked over at Shawn, preparing herself for the teasing and ridicule destined to come her way. Instead, Shawn smiled happily. He pointed to the clear bottles of amber liquid next to the lotion.

"Don't forget the shampoo. It's the perfect combo."

Juliet sighed, relieved. As her cheeks lost their flush, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Wait a minute," she interjected, holding up a finger before pointing at his basket. "Why are you in the baby aisle?"

Shawn grinned and pulled out a small jar. "I have a dentist appointment on Tuesday, so..." Shawn trailed off, assuming the jar of baby food was self-explanatory.

"Your dentist has a baby?" Jules asked, confusion evident on her face.

Shawn laughed. "Don't be absurd. Dr. Reynolds is sixty two. This stuff is for me."

Shawn carefully placed the jar back in the basket, only to have Juliet pick it up and examine it.

"Pineapple puree?" she looked at the other jars in his possession. "Triple berry blend? Banana pudding?"

She picked up the last jar, its colorful label only half-hiding the light brown paste within. "Mashed peas and carrots?"

"Gus insisted I get at least one vegetable," Shawn sighed.

Juliet nodded and put the jar back. She was still a little confused. "Shawn, I'm afraid I still don't get quite why you need baby food for your dentist appointment."

Shawn gestured to the end of the aisle and they started to walk, Juliet pushing her cart alongside Shawn as she waited for an explanation.

"All the saltwater taffy and rock candy caught up to me," he admitted. "I'm getting three fillings, and they have to numb my whole mouth, so I'm stocking up on food I'll be able to eat."

Somehow, Shawn always made the most ridiculous explanations seem legitimate. Although, Juliet supposed his reason for being in the aisle was more valid than hers.

"But," Juliet started as Shawn picked up a half gallon of whole milk. "Couldn't you just have some soup?"

"Where's the fun in that?" he wanted to know.

They rounded the corner and headed down the soft drinks and snack aisle.

"My cousin had a baby," Juliet explained. "Well, his wife did. They live up in Ojai - I just came back from seeing them."

"Let me see," Shawn said, dropping the bag of Funyons in his basket and lifting a hand to his temple. He closed his eyes, deciding to play the odds. "A boy."

She shook her head, smiling wryly.

"Are you sure?" Shawn said quickly. "It's hard to tell when they don't have any hair."

"Yes, Shawn, I'm sure she's a girl."

Shawn was undeterred. "Give her time." "What?" "All I'm saying is... don't be surprised when she, sorry, when he, figures it all out at sixteen." Juliet rolled her eyes. They'd reached the front of the store. "Did you need anything else?" she asked him. He shook his head. "No, I'm fine," he gestured for her to get in line in front of him. "Go ahead."

After their purchases were paid for and bagged, they walked out to the parking lot together.

Still clutching his own bag, Shawn helped her load up her car.

Since Juliet's brain wasn't in charge, she found herself asking him a question whose answer she didn't particularly want to admit to wanting to know. "Shawn, do you ever think about having kids?"

Shawn waggled his eyebrows. "Is that an offer?" he joked. Juliet rolled her eyes. See, Brain? That's why you don't ask semi-serious questions of Shawn Spencer.

But before Juliet could respond, Shawn surprised her and continued.

"I'd love to, someday."

Was his voice a little...wistful?

"Someday," Juliet agreed.

The conversation must have dipped into the orange on Shawn's seriometer, and the faint longing in his eyes was replaced with their normal twinkle.

"Before I have kids, though, I have to figure out how to avoid completely turning into my father."

"Good luck," Juliet joked. She closed the hatch, and he followed her to the driver's door. "You can't defeat biological programming."

Juliet hopped in the car but didn't close the door.

"Maybe not," Shawn said, adjusting his grocery bag. "But you can fight it for as long as humanly possible."

Juliet shook her head slightly, grinning. "Have a good night, Shawn."

"See you, Jules."

With a little wave, he walked off towards his bike.

Juliet started the car and watched him in her rearview mirror. It was a not unpleasant view.

"Fight it as long as humanly possible," she murmured before driving home.

* * *


	23. Chapter 23 Theme 41: Teamwork

In "Weekend Warriors" and "And Down the Stretch Comes Murder" we've seen how dedicated Shawn can be to little crafty projects.

So this idea came to mind. Just a silly little bit of fun.

* * *

"Dad," Liam called, dropping his backpack onto the floor with a heavy sigh.

Shawn poked his head around the corner. "Yes?"

"I need to go to the craft store."

"The craft store? Are you picking up a new hobby? Let me guess... is it needlepoint? Crocheting? Bedazzling?"

Liam sighed. He wasn't in the mood for his father's usual antics. "No. Do you remember how I spent all weekend's at Chelsea's house, working on our project?"

Shawn walked into the room, waggling his eyebrows. "Chelsea, huh?"

"Dad!"

"Yes, fine. I remember. But somebody sure is grouchy today."

"You would be, too, Dad. Chelsea's been sick all week!."

"And you want to stay home, too? I can't help you there. You know how Mom is. I'd let you stay home, I really would, but my hands are tied."

"Dad!" Liam ran a hand through his hair in frustration and flopped on the couch. "I don't want to stay home. The project is at her house!"

"And you want me to go get it?"

"We can't go get it. It could get the whole class sick-"

"I don't really think that's how -" Shawn trailed off at the expression on his son's face. Instead, Shawn took a seat on the couch. He could see where this was going. "So you need to do an entire project in one night?"

Liam nodded miserably. "Will you help me?"

"Depends. What's the project?" Shawn asked, stifling a smile as his third grader plopped onto the couch next to him.

"Well, we have to write a big report on Australia-"

"I don't do writing," Shawn quipped. "I avoided it at all costs when I was in school. Maybe Mom-"

"I have the report, Dad. It's on my flash drive."

"Thank God. Do you... need my help... printing it?"

Liam laughed. "No, I think I can manage that."

Shawn reached out to ruffle his hair in mock-frustration. "Then what do you need me to help you with? Moral support? I can make some banners."

"The diorama."

"The diorama? The diorama?!?"

Shawn's face lit up and his lips curled into a huge grin. Eyes sparkling, he hopped off the couch. "Why didn't you say so?! Let's go!"

Reluctantly, Liam slipped off the couch and followed Shawn outside. He wasn't sure why, but his father's enthusiasm made his stomach feel a little on edge... just like when they went to Mexico last year.

*~*~*~

It was after one AM when Juliet arrived home from work. She was surprised to see the kitchen light was still on, and even more surprised to see Shawn hard at work at the table while Liam was sound asleep slumped in a chair.

"What is going on here?" she asked quietly, dropping her purse on the counter and studying her boys.

"School project," Shawn told her distractedly.

Puzzled, she asked, "What's it supposed to be?"

"Don't joke, Jules. You know what this is."

Juliet shook her head slightly. "Isn't that supposed to be _his_ project?"

"Who? The party pooper? He passed out around ten. He kept complaining I was hogging the supplies."

Juliet braced herself and picked up the sleeping child. He was getting to the age where she wouldn't be able to carry him for much longer. "Don't stay up too late," she warned as she left the kitchen.

*~*~*~

Liam stumbled down the stairs early the next morning. "Dad?" he asked, rubbing his blurry eyes.

Shawn was sipping a cup of coffee at the table.

"Did you sleep at all?"

"No," Shawn grinned. "But behold - your masterpiece!"

Liam blinked, staring at the massive box taking up most of the table.

"Dad, what is that?"

Shawn beamed proudly. "Son, that is your A plus plus diorama."

"But," Liam stared, his mouth agape. "Where's the kangaroo?"

Shawn pointed to the black Pursuit Special. "He's Mel Gibson. See? I even got his little hands on the steering wheel."

"What about the koala?"

"Did you check out the motorcycles? There's a whole little gang of them."

"But... koalas don't drive motorcycles."

Shawn didn't hear him. "You're welcome, buddy. Now," he stood and took one last swig of his coffee. "I'm off to bed. Your mom's going to drive you to school today. We don't want anything bad to happen to this baby."

"Oh," Liam stared in confusion at his project.

He really wished Chelsea felt better.

*~*~*~

"Do you need help carrying it inside?" Juliet asked as they pulled up to the school.

Liam sighed. "Yeah, it's pretty big."

Juliet hid a smile as she hopped out of the car and headed to the back. Liam slipped his backpack on and trudged around to join his mother.

"If you want to close the door, I think I have it," Juliet told him with a smile.

Liam stared at her in confusion. The box she was holding was smaller, with kangaroos and kookaburras and koalas on Eucalyptus trees, not motorcycles. "But, that's not the one Dad made."

Juliet's smile grew. "I know. I did this when I got home last night. It took me an hour. Your father, meanwhile, well, at least _he'll _appreciate his detailed depiction of Mad Max in diorama form.

"Thanks, Mom!" Liam beamed happily, a bounce in his step as he followed her inside the school.

**

* * *

  
**

What can I say? I just love the idea of Shawn and his arts and crafts. :-)


	24. Chapter 24 Theme 82: Can You Hear Me?

Liam seems to be taking over these things. :)

Just a lighthearted look at the story behind the possibility of Liam's first word.

Thanks to CK for the help.

* * *

"Jules," Shawn's whisper shattered the silence that had been blanketing the dim bedroom. "I've been giving this a lot of thought."

"Uh oh."

"What?"

"Nothing. I'm just preparing myself."

"Ha ha. Anyway, Liam's going to be talking soon."

"Soon?" Juliet snorted, her eyes drifting to the infant sound asleep on the bed between them.

"Soon enough," Shawn corrected. "So I was thinking of what we should make his first word be."

"I'm sorry - 'make' his first word?"

"Yeah," Shawn said, completely nonplussed. "I mean, there are so many possibilities. Obviously, comedy is first and foremost, but something really embarrassing to future girlfriends would be fun, too. Do we go for a movie quote? TV? Or," he sighed. "I suppose something cute and heartwarming would be nice."

Juliet gave up trying to hide her grin. "Shawn, you can't choose your son's first word."

"Pffft. Sure you can."

"Really?"

shawn nodded emphatically. Juliet rolled her eyes. "What was your first word?"

Shawn shrugged. "I don't remember. What was yours?"

"Of course you don't _remember_ remember. But I'm sure your parents told you."

Shawn avoided her gaze. "Maybe."

"Your first word was 'maybe?'"

"No," Shawn paused. "Why? What was your first word?"

"After 'Mama' and 'Dada,' it was 'beach.'"

Shawn gave her a look.

"It was Miami! We went to the beach a lot," she explained defensively. "And don't think I'm just going to forget you haven't told me your first word yet."

Shawn sighed. "I suppose there's no avoiding it, is there?"

"No. Either you spill or," Juliet reached towards the nightstand for her cell phone. "I call Henry."

"Fine, fine," Shawn sighed in defeat. "It was...'cop.'"

"'Cop?'"

"Don't laugh."

"I wasn't going to laugh. It's adorable!" Juliet's grin widened. "Your dad must have been ecstatic."

"I'm sure he was," Shawn commented wryly. "But he suckered me into it! There is not a doubt in my mind that he was coaching me to say 'cop.'"

"Why would it matter if your first word was 'cop?'"

"I don't know. So he could hold it over my head for the rest of my life?" Shawn glanced down at the baby still asleep between them. He lowered his voice. "See, Jules, this is why we have to find the perfect word for Liam."

"Shawn," Juliet shook her head gently. She'd humor him. "Fine, I'll bite. Say we can choose his first word for him. What should it be?"

"Jules, that's what I was asking you! I don't know what it should be. Something meaningful, though. What about 'PETA?'" he grinned devilishly. "That would really bug my dad."

"You can't pick his first word for the sole purpose of bugging your father."

"Aw, but think of it. Think of the particular shade of red his face would get when his grandson - his own grandson - says 'animal rights.'" Shawn's eyes lit up. "'Veggie burger!' He should say 'veggie burger!'"

"It's not going to be 'veggie burger,'" Juliet said sternly. "Think of something else."

They settled into silence.

"Shawn," Juliet spoke up. "You do realize that it's just a first word, right? It's not like we're choosing his destiny."

Shawn was deep in thought and didn't exactly respond. In the quiet darkness of the room, Juliet felt herself dozing as she waited for a reply.

"I've got it!" Shawn exclaimed suddenly, waking her.

"What is it?" she asked. She was curious to hear what ridiculous word he'd chosen.

Shawn shifted on the bed, moving so his mouth hovered just above Liam's ear. The baby was still sleeping, so when he spoke he used his quietest and most hypnotizing tone. "Liam Henry Spencer," he whispered, emphasizing each word.

Shawn heard the smile in Juilet's voice. "That's a good first word," she murmured sleepily.

Shawn dropped his lips down to kiss Liam's cheek. "What can I say? Our son has great taste."


	25. Chapter 25 Theme 60: Rejection

**SPOILERS FOR "TUESDAY THE 17TH"**

Lassiter second person POV. Because I couldn't give him a hug.

* * *

You should have known.

It's like watching a murderer walk free because of a legal technicality; You do everything right, but it still doesn't matter.

You open your heart. You mature. You stop pulling your gun all the time.

You make all the gestures you couldn't make before, because you weren't the right person before.

And it doesn't matter.

You're still not the right person.

You still lose.

You still wind up with a broken heart.

If you love her, set her free.

You did. And she's not coming back.

It's not supposed to be this way.

You watched her. You saw her hesitate at the door. She said she'll always love you... is that supposed to be a comfort? What good is her love if she's not _in love_ with you? She loves you the way you always love your first love. Your childhood home. Your pet. She loves you... nostalgically.

Fat lot of good that does.

You stand there for a second, contemplating your next move. There's always the bar, but you don't feel like drinking tonight.

Not yet, anyway.

You open your heart and instantly it breaks.

You'd laugh if you didn't feel awful. If you didn't feel like there's a gaping hole in your chest.

But, hey, you feel.

And that's a start, isn't it?


	26. Chapter 26 Theme 95: Advertisement

"Jules, don't get mad."

Juliet's body tensed involuntarily as she turned to regard her husband. "You should know by now not to even bother saying that," she told him, shaking her head. "What did you do?"

"Well, you know how you sent me and Liam out to buy milk?" Shawn asked, barely hiding a grin.

"Oh, God," Juliet moaned. "Please tell me you didn't get chocolate milk again. I can't make mashed potatoes with chocolate milk."

"What? Why not? I thought they were delicious," Shawn defended, momentarily distracted by the memory. "Buttery... and chocolately...anyway, no. Not chocolate milk. But close."

"A cow?" she asked with a sinking feeling.

Shawn whistled, and Liam entered the room, a sleeping black lap puppy in his arms.

"Can we keep him?" Liam asked her hopefully, his entire face lit up in pure joy.

Juliet plastered on a smile before turning to Shawn, who at least had the decency to look guilty.

"Jules, I swear! Look at him. He has those puppy dog eyes."

"That's because he's a puppy, Shawn! And how can you even see his eyes if he's sleeping?"

"I meant our son. Look at him."

Liam smiled dutifully up at her, stopping just short of batting his eyelashes.

"Your dad and I are going to have to talk about it."

Liam's face fell, but only a moment. He knew his dad was a top negotiator. "Can I go show the puppy my room?"

Juliet sighed. "Sure. Just... put some newspaper down first," she grabbed yesterday's edition from the stack of recycling and handed it to him.

Liam bounded off, excitedly chattering to the still asleep puppy in his arms. As soon as the young ears were out of hearing range, Juliet pointed a finger at Shawn.

"What the hell were you thinking? We already have a dog. And a cat."

"Yes, but we don't have a puppy. Now we're like Homeward Bound!"

"Shawn..." She was tired. He could see that, and he knew that he would win if only he could pull off the final blow.

"I'll housetrain him."

Her eyebrows shot heavenward. "Can I get that in writing? Notarized, perhaps?"

"And you'll have veto rights for the naming," Shawn added quickly, sweetening the deal as he approached her. He put his hands together pleadingly and batted his eyelashes.

"You're worse than your son," Juliet told him, crossing her arms.

Maybe she wasn't as tired as he thought.

"Jules, there was a puppy sale. What was I supposed to do?"

"A puppy sale? At the grocery store?"

"The grocery store, Lord Pettington's, who can remember these things?"

Juliet groaned. "You could at least pretend to discuss these things with me first. I am your wife, you know. We're supposed to be a team."

Shawn's eyes searched the kitchen for an answer. "We are a team. That's how I knew you wouldn't mind."

He flashed her his most winning smile. Juliet felt her defenses weakening. Damn that smile!

"Shawn, a puppy is hard work," she complained, trying desperately to fight it. "I'm not going to be the one responsible for him. Not this time."

"You won't. I swear! So... can we keep him?"

Juliet sighed. She had to face the facts - she'd known the puppy's fate when she first saw him, just as she knew Shawn had known.

"Fine."

Shawn let out a breath. "Whew. That's good, because I'd already named him."

"Veto rights!" Juliet reminded him as Shawn turned to leave.

"And make sure he's actually a boy puppy!" she called after him.

"I wouldn't make that mistake," Shawn replied over his shoulder. "Again," he added.

Juliet sighed and shook her head, her eyes scanning the kitchen as she contemplated her role as the sole adult in the family.

"Shawn!" she yelled suddenly, turning to track him down. "You forgot the milk!"

* * *

I'd recommend a shelter if you're going to get a cat or dog, but Lord Pettington's just sounded funny. :)


	27. Chapter 27 Theme 90: Triangle

I started to fall asleep last night, and here this was. Then, after I scribbled it in the dark, Gus's voice came into my head for yet another story. Way to keep me up late, muse! :)

Vague spoilers from season 4 apply, I suppose.

This is in second person, and the person is yours to guess (though there's really only the two possibilities).

* * *

He can't keep doing this to you. It's not fair, and all's supposed to be fair in love and war.

At first you know he doesn't even realize what he's doing. A look from Gus, from you, from a floating vision of her face, which you assume comes to him when he says or does something particularly over-the-line.

It's hard for him, and you appreciate that. You understand he doesn't know how _not_ to flirt. And it's innocent enough at first. But you start to feel funny, and you know it's time to have the talk. About _her_.

He stops... for a while. Then his conscious effort gets lazy and he reverts to old habits. A smile here, a wink there, never a touch except maybe on the arm, the shoulder. You wonder if he knows he's still doing it. You wonder if _she_ knows. You wonder if all three of you are wondering if it will ever go beyond what it is now. You all hope he's not that kind of guy.

You haven't been this self-conscious since high school. You're starting to worry about how it's going, how well each of you is playing your part. How long it can last this way.

Fair or not, love fades. Puppy love fades even faster, but you worry there's a connection between them that far surpasses yours with him. You fear that love is going to fade - not theirs, but yours. You know how alone you'll be, gluing together the pieces of your broken heart.

Ah, but now you're being melodramatic. He's only a guy. It doesn't matter if he's not perfect for you - things will happen how they're meant to happen. If you two end up happily ever after... you'll know it's meant to be. If he ends up with her, you'll... well, you can't begrudge them a happily ever after, too.

You just wish you could have an answer now. Will he make more of a commitment? Or will he continue to hover, remaining a boyfriend of one and a possibility for another.

It's really starting to bug you. He can't keep doing this. He needs to make a choice.

Even if it's not you.


End file.
